1

 The first time isn't so bad.

It's the same day that Kurt left and he has to pull over twice on the way home from the airport because he's crying too much, so he's bound to hurt a little bit (okay he hasn't hurt this much since the funeral but they don't talk about that so it's fine) Of course he misses Kurt the minute his boy steps out of the car but he knows that's psychological because any other day Kurt wouldn't even be with him at this point, so it's stupid to miss him already. To miss him before he's even gone. It happens that same evening- the first time he misses him. Well, the first time he really misses him, the first time he feels that gaping hole in his heart, the restlessness in his limbs, and the longing, itching ache throughout his entire body. The first time he feels lost, he feels like he has nothing to do, his job is done, his boy is a man, and he doesn't need to protect him anymore. He has no other purpose.

Carole is out and Finn left weeks ago and Sam's gone to stay with another friend so he's home alone for the first time in months , feeling like just yesterday he was watching his six year old parade round in a Disney tiara and talk about how one day he was going to marry a Handsome Prince.

It's quiet, too quiet, it's the kind of quiet you get in horror movies before the bad guy strikes or in graveyards when no one dares disturb the peace. He doesn't like it. He can almost hear the phantom Kurt singing as he cooks- and Burt's really hungry so maybe he should start making something to eat but he knows that's just going to make everything worse because it won't be very good and Kurt would laugh and make him something else except he can't because he's not here. He can almost hear the Kurt who isn't there singing those songs that Burt's never heard of, but his son seems to love. And he can very nearly almost hear the music sliding under Kurt's door and tiptoeing down the stairs to his ears, the music that he knows all the words to because Kurt has been playing those same CDs since he was thirteen and Burt bought him his first CD player because another boy at school broke his Walkman. He would always know what mood Kurt was in from the music he played, he would know whether to disturb him or if he wanted to be left alone or if he needed to be brought warm milk and an extra blanket. And every time he heard the sound of music soundtrack Burt would know his son was in a good mood and that if he suggested getting take out for dinner there was a possibility Kurt would agree. And he really wishes he could go and tell Kurt to turn the music down because he would always play it too loud no matter how many times he's been told. But he can't, because Kurt isn't there, and that music is piled in cardboard boxes on Kurt's bedroom floor and he's never going to know how his son is feeling just by walking past his bedroom door again.

He isn't going to be there every time Kurt has a bad day and comes home and goes to bed, he isn't going to be there to stand up for his son, to be his biggest supporter in everything he does, and now Kurt can hide things from him, can just not call him when he's crying in bed listening to his Les mis soundtrack and Burt will never know if his son has a problem and is moping around his apartment on his own. He can't protect the most important person in the world to him, he feels hopeless and alone and is about to go and bring Kurt's wicked CD downstairs so he can at least pretend his son is here but it won't be the same as hearing Kurt sing those duets with himself so why should he even bother.

He jams the play button of his CD player in the corner of the room to fill the vacuum of silence that is closing in on him, to stop that constricting feeling in his throat and that emptiness in his chest, and really just so he has something to do. Then Mellencamp begins to play. He knew that CD was in there, he knew it would start playing. What he didn't know was that memories of a scared sixteen year old boy, beaten down for being different, attacked for being special, and terrified to be himself, would crash into him like relentless waves against the unsuspecting sand.  When your son starts acting like you, you should be proud right? All he remembers is driving out to his wife's grave and breaking down, telling her how he had failed her, how he had failed their son, because their beautiful, talented, special little boy is scared to be himself, even in his own home. Their wonderful, amazing child thinks he has to be someone he's not just so his dad will love him.

He hits the CD player again, making the music come to a sudden stop and once again letting the quiet work its way into his soul, tear at him from the inside, and make him miss his son even more than he already does. He can physically feel the absence left by Kurt, the hole in his heart, the emptiness in this room, and the stillness of this house. It has only been a few hours since he watched his Son's plane fly away from him, and no it isn't forever, but yes it sure felt like it. He decides to call Kurt, knows that his son will roll his eyes when he sees his name appear on the phone and act like he's fine, but he hopes that he still needs him just a little bit.

He doesn't remember dialling the numbers but he must've done because the phone is ringing.

He waits.

 And waits.

 And waits.

And then he gets a message telling him the line is busy and to please try again later and his heart plummets, because later isn't good enough, later isn't now.

 So he hangs up and decides to call later. But when later comes he thinks better of it, his son is probably too busy finding somewhere to stay to want to talk to him, he'll just be annoyed if Burt rings now. So he'll wait until tomorrow to tell Kurt how much he already misses him and in the meantime at least he has defying gravity to keep him happy.

2.

The second time is worse.

It's a week since Kurt left, Burt had been keeping himself busy with the garage and redecorating the bathroom and trying to do romantic things for Carole and most importantly the upcoming game. He cannot wait for the game. It isn't that he doesn't care about Kurt's opinions (they're the most important thing to him) it's just that he doesn't care about his opinions about football, and now he doesn't have to listen to them.

It never occurred to him that he might actually like listening to them.

The game is on and for the first time he doesn't have Finn eating chips obnoxiously loudly next to him and Kurt mocking the player's clothes and asking obvious questions and generally complaining about the amount of football that is watched in this house. He's trying really hard to see the good that's come from Kurt moving out. So far watching football in peace and being able to eat copious amounts of bacon is all he's come up with.

Only it's boring. He feels stupid when he's the only one cheering and he knows that Kurt would be asking him about what's going on right now (because secretly Kurt knows that his Dad likes to explain these things to him) and nothing's really happening in the game so he's just sat here on his own thinking about that time Kurt was on the football team. That was another time his son had tried to change who he was to be closer to him, and wow he didn't think there had been that many times. Had he even been a good dad at all? But no, he can't think like that because his son may have flown the nest but that doesn't make Burt any less of a Dad. He was there for his son's first football game, he squirmed as Kurt had jumped up and down on the pitch, waving at him, and cringed when the football team started dancing to that song Kurt loved so much and worried about how tiny his boy was and he screamed and cheered and had been proud to say ‘That's my boy' when Kurt actually played.

All of that had been a lot more interesting that sitting in this empty living room, on this too big couch, alone. He realises that he'll probably never get to watch football with Kurt again, Kurt who will only visit when he has to, Christmas and Thanksgivings and birthdays and it will probably end up that Burt spends more time in New York than Kurt spends here, in the house he grew up in, the house that at times had been the only safe place for him and the house that was far too small and ordinary and boring for someone as special as Kurt.  Never again will an intense moment of a game be interrupted by Kurt and his bags of clothes that he just has to model for them right now.

Burt doesn't even know what's going on in this game now, how did they score that many points and when did that player get injured and why is he so restless? He doesn't even know what to do with himself these days, doing anything and everything to distract him from the empty bedroom, up the stairs and the first door on the right, the one whose door hasn't been opened since the day Kurt left.

When Kurt was younger he would generally scoff at the football, he'd try his hardest to make himself scarce, playing power rangers quietly on the floor or tiptoeing off upstairs to watch a movie with his mother or play dress up with himself. But there was one time, he'd had a tummy ache. His mother had been out with friends and he'd felt too ill to change out of his little footsie pyjamas  and he couldn't reach the DVR to put a movie on, so he scampered downstairs, all big doleful blue eyes and trembling little lips. Wordlessly he'd hoisted himself up onto the big armchair in the centre of the room and buried his head in Burt's neck. Kurt had clung to him with tiny little fingers and strong little legs that wrapped around his torso and he'd sniffled into his shoulder every thirty seconds until it hurt Burt too much to watch his son be miserable. He'd asked Kurt what he wanted to do and in a very small voice his son had replied that he wanted to watch the Lion King.  Kurt hadn't even let go so he could go get the movie, Burt had had to carry his son up the stairs with him and rummage through the video box with him still clinging to his neck. In the end, they'd just watched the movie in his bed, Kurt buried under the covers in the middle and Burt stroking his back soothingly on his side. By the time Molly had got back both of her boys had been asleep- the football game forgotten- and so Kurt had slept with them that night.

Burt would give anything for Kurt to ask to watch something else right now. He would turn the game off in a flash, he would put up with any of those weird musicals that Kurt watched and he didn't get, and he would honestly just do anything to make his son happy right now. He wonders what Kurt's doing, he doesn't know, Kurt's recent phone calls have been vague and rushed and Burt knows it won't be like this forever but it still hurts him now. Now when he's switching the TV off in frustration and checking his mobile for what must be the tenth time in the past hour to see if Kurt has texted him and throwing it on the couch when he hasn't. And he could call Kurt, he could text him or email him or he could jump in his car and drive straight to the Airport. But he won't. Because Kurt doesn't need him, Kurt has grown up and spread his wings and learnt to fly with very little help from Burt. Burt needs him, but he's the parent and parents sacrifice things for their children. So he won't call Kurt, he'll wait until he doesn't feel so awful and then he'll try and bring himself to sending Kurt's things to him. To shipping them away from this house forever.

3.

The third time he isn't alone.

He's on his lunch break, eating his usual bacon sandwich at his desk in the garage. The door swings open and the bell above the door jingles merrily.  And then, of course, in struts Blaine Anderson, confident and suave and far more at home here than he should be. He's probably here to drop his car off, it's been causing him trouble for a while now. Apparently. Secretly Burt just thinks he wants someone to talk to.

‘Do you think Kurt would approve of that lunch?' And he's smiling on the outside but Burt has known this boy for far too long to even begin to believe that he is okay, they're both just a little too good at convincing themselves.

‘You gonna tell him?' So they'll joke instead, they're fine, they're both fine, Blaine's just here to pick Kurt up for a date and Kurt's just taking too long to get ready so it's up to Burt to entertain his son's boyfriend- who secretly he is rather fond of- and they'll talk about football and Kurt and they'll joke with each other and they'll be fine.

‘I'd never compromise our alliance' See? Joking, they're fine, they're good, Kurt's going to walk through the door to the garage any second and he'll still blush when he takes Blaine's hand and he'll roll his eyes when Burt tells them to be safe and soon he'll be home again.

‘You miss him?' But he won't.

‘You don't?' He isn't going to come home.

‘Everyday' And Blaine knows that just as much as he does.

‘I guess my life was centred around him more than I realised' And it hurts Blaine just as much as it hurts him.

‘Oh no, I knew. It still kills me' Every day, every day for the past month it has killed him. Almost. And just when he's on the brink of death Kurt will call or write or leave a cheesy message on the answering machine and it brings Burt back, if only for a few more days, so he lives in agony- almost dying and then surviving and then almost dying again. A vicious circle of missing Kurt and really missing Kurt. Although he always misses Kurt so that was kind of redundant, he misses Kurt so much it hurts.

‘I miss his smile' A smile that was rare and beautiful and you'd feel honoured to have directed at you.

‘I miss his laugh' Burt smiles sadly, If Blaine wants to play this game he's happy to comply, it's one of their favourite things to do in their waiting for Kurt ritual, only it used to be things I love about Kurt instead of things I miss about Kurt.

‘and the way he could always make my day just a bit better' This boy is far too invested in his son, not that his son doesn't deserve it, after everything Kurt's been through he deserves to have someone look at him the way Blaine does, then again he's pretty sure the feeling's mutual.

‘And his cooking' He really misses Kurt's cooking, Carole isn't a bad chef, not by any means, but she's no Kurt either.

‘Oh his cooking was amazing. Is.' It's a slip of the tongue they've  both been making far too much, all the things they love about Kurt are still true, just because they aren't witnessing any of them, his smile or his laugh, or his food, doesn't mean they don't still exist.

‘I miss him constantly playing show tunes'

‘and picking out my clothes'

‘Picking out my food'

‘mocking football' they look up at each other and say the words together, laughing in a bittersweet sort of way, it makes them smile and almost cry and long for him in a sudden very obvious way. It's always there- the longing, missing him- but sometimes it resurfaces like this, unexpected and painful and raw, like someone has ripped their wounds open.

‘I just really miss him' Blaine is tearing up, Burt is refusing to, he is the father figure, he can be the strong one for this boy, this sad naïve boy who he is very very jealous of. Not that he wants to be in relationship with Kurt- what sort of sick father would want that?- it's just, this boy, this boy who is holding back his tears and biting his trembling lip all while keeping a sad little smile on his face, is going to be seeing his son for the rest of his life. Or at least Burt is almost 100% sure it will be for the rest of his life, because he recognises that look on Blaine's face, slightly awkward, a little awe struck, but most of all grateful, grateful for everything he has, he recognises that look from his own face, captured in old Polaroid pictures of him and Molly and staring back at him in the mirror as Carole fixes his tie.

‘You'll be with him in a year' Yes, Burt is very jealous of this boy.

‘You can be with him whenever you want' And it appears that this boy is jealous of him.

‘it's not the same, his face isn't going to light up when he sees me and he isn't going to want to spend all day talking to me, and see my face every day for the rest of his life' It's not that Kurt doesn't love him, he knows he does, but Kurt doesn't want these things with him, he wants the feeling of home and support and protection, he wants visits every few months and for Burt not to embarrass him in front of his new friends by telling the story about the crocs that they don't talk about.

‘I think you underestimate your relationship'

‘I don't know, I think it changed after I gave him that sex talk' And Burt's smiling again, because they're fine, they'll  be fine and he is all these things to Kurt, he's his biggest fan and the man who pressed a high school boy against some lockers because he dared make his son feel anything less than perfect and he will never tell that story about the crocs again. Probably.

‘Oh God, please never bring that up again. I was so arrogant' they laugh, Blaine blushing in a way that Kurt would call adorable and Burt grinning because mocking Blaine is one of his favourite things to do.  ‘I'm going to call him'

‘Say hello from me'

‘I can put it on loudspeaker?'

‘I'm sure he'd rather it was just the two of you'

4.

The fourth time he cries.

 It's Friday night dinner, it's not the first and it won't be the last and he's just about getting used to the fact that it's just him and Carole attending and it's not very special at all. But the absence is still palpable. He is cooking, because Carole is working late and he's trying to do that romantic thing and he thinks he can handle it, Kurt sent him some recipes so it should be fine.

The chicken is cooking and the soufflé is in the oven and no he is definitely not thinking about the first Friday night dinner after Molly died, the raw chicken and the feeling like a terrible parent and the first time he'd seen his son smile in weeks. It's been longer now, months since he's seen that smile. He misses it. You always feel honoured to see that smile, like you're in on an inside joke or you've been let into a very secret club- the congratulations you can make Kurt Hummel smile club, it's one very few people get to join.

It's getting easier, hearing how happy Kurt is is definitely easing the pain, that boy deserves some happiness in his life. But he still misses his son, like any parent would, and then a lot more because for so many years all they had was each other, and now he has Carole of course but it isn't really the same. He's terrified that Kurt might need him and not know how to say, or maybe that he needs Kurt and he doesn't know how to admit it. Or maybe he just misses his son and doesn't know what to do about it.

And then the chicken is ready and it seems okay- at least it isn't raw- and the table is set and Carole should be home any minute. And then Carole's home and is kissing him on the cheek and sitting down to tell him about her day as he serves the dinner. She compliments the food and he'll admit it isn't half bad and this is good, he's barely even noticing the empty chairs surrounding him.

Then he gets the soufflé out.

And it's deflating just like his heart.  Kurt is telling him that he hasn't given it enough room to rise and he's sighing exaggeratedly and Burt remembers that, he remembers that conversation and if Kurt were here it would've worked perfectly and-

‘I miss you Kurt' He didn't realise he was speaking out loud and he didn't realise there were tears in his eyes and he didn't realise that he's standing in his kitchen sobbing over soufflé. His son is gone and Friday night dinners are never going to be the same and the soufflé is ruined. He doesn't notice Carole taking the dish from his hands or her wrapping her arms around him or telling him that it's okay. All he notices is the quiet house and the table set for two and the burning in his eyes. He doesn't cry, he hates crying, not because he thinks it makes him look weak but because it hurts him more, for some people crying is good, it's get out all of their anger and frustration and sorrow, it makes them feel better. Kurt is one of those people. For him it makes his head hurt and his eyes sting and his body feel like it is betraying him, he hates crying far more than most people and that just makes everything so much worse for him now.

‘You should call him, honey' Carole is wiping away his tears and smiling at him and taking care of him in a way that he really needs right now.

‘He'll think it's his fault, he'll feel guilty, I- I don't want to do that to... to him' He wipes his eyes and smiles shakily at his wife and starts to throw away the damn soufflé.

‘I'm sure he'd appreciate it.'

‘I'll call him tomorrow. When I won't say something stupid'

 Carole agrees to wash the dishes and he agrees to go lie down, he climbs the stairs precariously, clinging to the banister for support and trying to even his breathing. He pushes open the door, that door, up the stairs and the first one on the right. It's dark and it's bare and it smells overwhelmingly of Kurt. The big walk in wardrobe that still contains some of his clothes, and the dressers and drawers stripped of all the things that made them Kurt's. This could be any room in any house. There is no sign at all of who occupied this room, how special they are and how many lives they've touched, just the cold carpet and the empty dressing table and the shelves robbed of their pictures and CDs and knick knacks that had been collected over the years. This room doesn't make him feel better at all.

 It makes him feel worse.

So he closes the door and steps outside and promises himself that tomorrow he will call his son, and he won't tell him how much he is hurting because that isn't fair to Kurt, kind, caring Kurt, who will feel terrible and useless and like a bad person for chasing his dreams. Tomorrow he will call Kurt and tomorrow he will pretend to be okay.

5.

The fifth time is an accident.

 Because his outbreaks of what he is calling ‘Kurt fever' are getting fewer and farther between, of course he still misses his son, but he isn't hit with an overpowering longing to hear his voice at the most inconvenient of times, he doesn't have to drop everything he is doing and take deep breaths to calm the ache rampaging through his body, and it isn't taking him three hours to get to sleep every night because every time he closes his eyes he sees a different memory of Kurt. Kurt fever is the worst, it's a debilitating illness that can take months to recover from and can cause unexpected relapses at any moment. There is no cure.

It still hurts.

But it's manageable.

The fifth time is an accident, a reflex action, he doesn't even notice. It's a Saturday morning, there is some reality TV show on in the background that he won't admit to watching because he's pretending to read the paper. It's awful and compelling and if Carole walks into the room right now he is definitely going to switch it off and pretend he knows nothing about it.

But it's actually quite good. Two girls are screaming at each other- he will be forever grateful that he never had to raise girls, he doesn't think he could have done that on his own- and it looks like one of them is going to hit the other.

‘KURT! HEY KURT, COME SEE THIS' one of them throws a punch, misses, and next thing it's hair pulling and name calling and the claws are out. Kurt really has to see this because there's nothing better than a good old fashioned cat fight.

‘KURT GET DOWN HERE!'

...

Oh.

Kurt isn't here anymore.  It's easy to forget sometimes. They're better at talking now and he doesn't hurt constantly and sometimes things just distract him, but sometimes he forgets, he walks into Kurt's room to ask if he wants something from the shop and he sets an extra place at the dinner table and sometimes, sometimes, he talks to him when he isn't there. That's when every painful memory comes back, memories of a little boy who he doesn't understand and he doesn't know how to help, and slightly older little boy, barely even a teenager, who spends all of his time alone and tries to hide the broken school bag and the red rimmed eyes and who he can't even talk to, and the teenager who is still his little boy, the one who's hiding his bruises and trying to change who he is and is crying at him because he honestly believes his Dad won't love him for being who he is, even when who he is is the most amazing person on this planet.

He is so proud of Kurt, the boy who through it all has somehow managed to stay strong, stronger than Burt ever was, because Kurt looks so much like his mother, he talks and he acts and he thinks in exactly the same way and for years that made it hard for Burt to even look at him. Kurt is stronger than he is. There is no way that he could ever be as brave or as confident as Kurt has always been and he admires that so much in his son, is so proud to call him his son. That is why he won't tell Kurt how much he misses him, can't tell him how much he misses him, because after everything Kurt has been through, bullying and loneliness and constantly being told no, being told that everything he is and feels is wrong, he can't make him feel bad. Because Kurt will feel bad. Kurt is out there, chasing his dreams, living his life the way he always should have, the life Burt wishes he could've given him, and Burt won't dash those dreams. He lets Kurt know that he loves him- of course- and that he misses him, but not that saying good bye to him at that airport is still one of the hardest things he's ever done since they buried Molly. He has never been good at expressing himself, he still struggles to tell Kurt most of these things.

So as much as he wants to pick up the phone and call Kurt, as much as he wants to break down and tell Kurt that sometimes he forgets he's gone and then he remembers and it's one of the most painful things he's ever felt, as much as he wants to apologise to his son for every bad feeling he's ever had to feel. He doesn't.

He gets out his phone and he texts Kurt, some stupid line about the show he's watching and the bitchy girls and how glad he is that Kurt is a boy, and when the reply comes two hours later- a witty comment that's aloof and clever and contains a reference Burt doesn't get, and then an offhand remark about how good the bagels are and a smiley face he can almost see mirrored on Kurt's own face- it's okay, because he knows his son is happy, and that makes him happy.

1.

The sixth time is the last.

It's a Sunday. Carole is rolling over in bed and smiling up at him, cuddling close with her eyes shut sleepily and a contented smile on her face.

‘Make me pancakes?' and really , who is he to deny his wife.

So he's making pancakes and listening to the radio, it's playing some classic rock that he thinks the glee club might have sung at a competition once but he can't quite be sure. He still watches the glee club perform, Blaine is there new lead soloist and he's almost as proud of that boy as he is his own Son, his son who's just got himself an internship at Vogue.com (Burt's not quite sure he knows what that is but Kurt sounded very happy when he told him so it must be a good thing).

He's making Pancakes and everything is going well, it's Sunday morning and he has nothing to do with his day other than go back to bed with his wife. He cooks and he sings and he contemplates going to ask Sam and Blaine if they want anything to eat because yes, Sam still lives here and Blaine is always welcome for sleepovers. He decides better of it, knowing how badly waking two teenage boys can end and instead takes Carole her breakfast.

He opens the door with his arm, walking through it backwards and dropping himself into the bed where Carole is half asleep. He nudges her gently, placing the plates on his lap, she grumbles and buries herself deeper into the mattress.

‘Come on, I made you breakfast' He laughs at the speed that she sits up, her hair sticking up in random places and her eyes searching rapidly around the room. She quickly grabs her plate and begins to eat as he settles himself under the covers.

‘Mmm, these are delicious. Did I ever tell you how much I love you?' Carole is gushing, her mouth half full and a tiny drop of maple syrup collecting at the corner of her mouth.

‘Once or twice' Burt pushes his Pancakes away from him.

‘What's wrong?'

‘They're not right'

He doesn't like the pancakes, Kurt makes the best pancakes (if you can persuade him to) they're soft and fluffy and taste just the way Molly's did, he remembers father's days where he was woken up to the smell of pancake batter and maple syrup, to a pair of joyful blue eyes in his bed and loving blue eyes in the doorway. Kurt could cook exactly like his mum. He still made those pancakes the first father's day after she died, he still woke Burt up by jumping on the bed, he gave him a world's greatest dad mug and breakfast in bed and they both cried because they missed her so much. He made them every Father's day after that, and every birthday and every other time he was in a good mood.

His pancakes aren't right, they aren't Kurt's and they aren't Molly's and they aren't right. His coffee isn't in his mug and his day has just taken a turn for the worse, all because of some stupid pancakes that aren't as fluffy and aren't as sweet and aren't right.

He misses Kurt, still after all this time. He misses the way Kurt would always wake him up in the mornings if he was going to be late, and the way Kurt would always be so excited to show him his report card and the way Kurt would get the old photo album with all the pictures of Molly in so he wouldn't have to. He misses the way Kurt was never afraid to be himself and the way his joy was infectious, he smiled, you smiled. And although he very rarely told Kurt all of the little things he loved about him, he misses the idea that he could, if he wanted to.

Mainly he just misses his little boy.

His little boy who is all grown up, who is off being successful and happy and as wonderful as he always was, his little boy who, if truth be told, doesn't really need him anymore.

But no, Burt is done with missing him, with never telling him how special he is, because for years they couldn't communicate with each other, and Kurt was terrified he wouldn't accept him, and they've only just got back to that pace where everything is good again. Where they spend time with each other and discuss their problems and actually enjoy each other's company.

He isn't going to let New York take that away from him.

So he smiles at Carole and gives her the rest of his pancakes and disentangles himself from the blankets. He gets out of bed and walks quickly out of the room, his phone is already in his hands and the numbers are already being dialled and it's already ringing.

Kurt picks up on the first call.

‘Hey I was just about to call you-'

‘I miss you'

‘Dad, I miss you too'

‘No Kurt I really-‘

‘That's great, but look can you let me in, it's cold out here and I forgot to bring a jacket'

‘What?'

‘I'm outside'

And Burt doesn't even remember getting to the bottom of the stairs or opening the door or throwing himself at Kurt, but his little boy is in his arms and complaining about creases in his clothes and hugging him back and who even cares about the pancakes anymore?

He pulls Kurt inside, not wanting to let go of him ever again, he sits, for at least an hour, and listens to Kurt gush about New York and his apartment and his new friends and the bagels, Kurt really loves those bagels. And when Kurt excitedly runs upstairs to wake Blaine and he comes down a second later, followed by Blaine and his 200 watt smile and Sam in his half asleep confusion and Carole just smiling fondly at all of them, he doesn't mind. His Sunday just got a whole lot better. And he doesn't think he'll hurt as much as he was.

Because even when the house is silent and the football's boring and Blaine has gone to live his life with Kurt and Friday Night dinner is only for two and he forgets that Kurt isn't there and his pancakes are never as good as Molly's and Kurt's, his son is still happy. And that's all that matters, that means he has succeeded as a parent, and that's good enough for him. Because Kurt will still come back, he and Blaine will drive up blasting Wicked from their car speakers and singing along too loudly, they will burst in while the football's on and Blaine will sit and watch with him and Kurt will take over the cooking and they'll all watch TV together in the evenings and Kurt will make them all pancakes in the morning, and none of this means he's losing his son.

It means his Son still wants to come back.