Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.
The song "Vanilla Twilight" belongs to Owl City, and I highly recommend listening to it while you read this.
The stars lean down to kiss you
And I lie awake and miss you
Pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere
Burt fastened the last screw in the swing and stepped back to admire his handiwork. It wasn't that fancy, just a plain white wooden porch swing, but Mollie was right- it looked right at place on their little porch. Made it look homey.
He dropped his screwdriver in his toolkit and brushed his hands off on his pants. He'd hoped to make it a surprise for his young wife, but it was hard to keep secrets from her. Besides, she'd been hinting about how much she wanted one for a while, and it was pretty fun to make her happy with surprises.
The glass storm door creaked and Mollie stepped out on the porch, barefoot and dressed in a pair of short denim cutoffs and a white lacy top. Her long strawberry blonde hair was tied up at the crown of her head with a light blue ribbon and her feet were bare. "I brought you something," she said, holding up two glasses bottles of Coke.
He pointed at the swing and grinned. "Ta-dah," he said.
Mollie's blue eyes lit up. "It's perfect!" she said. She hugged him around his waist, smiling in pleasure. "Oh, Burt, I love it. Thank you."
"I'm glad you like it," he said, bending to kiss her. He took a bottle from her hands. "Try it out."
Mollie sat down gingerly, surveying the swing in pleased pride. Burt sat down beside her and pried the lid off the drink. "The baby asleep?" he asked.
"Happy as can be," she confirmed. She wrestled the baby monitor out of her back pocket and set it down carefully on the ground beneath the swing. "He's the calmest three-month-old I've ever seen."
"Only when he's around you," Burt snorted. "He cries every time I hold him."
"That's because you hold him like a football instead of a baby," Mollie said, rolling her eyes. "Try cuddling him a little."
"You've known me for how many years, Moll? And have I ever been a cuddler?" he said.
"You cuddle with me," she said slyly, poking him in the arm.
"Only 'cause you make me."
She smiled and swung her legs around to stretch her legs across his knees. "You like it, you know you do," she said. She took a sip of her soda. Burt rocked the swing lightly; the chains creaked a little as it swayed. "Thanks for the swing."
"Glad you like it," he said.
She surveyed the porch thoughtfully. "It makes the house look like…ours," she said. "Maybe I'll make you put in a trellis on that end, and I'll plant some morning glories."
"Whatever you want, little girl," he said, squeezing her calf.
She sighed in contentment and leaned her head back against the back of the swing. The setting sun touched her hair with gold, and the late afternoon breeze caught the mingled scents of her sweet perfume and the warm vanilla aura of her milk and honey shampoo. Burt reached out with meaning to and caught a trailing curl around his fingertip, admiring the burnished gold color as he wound it slowly around his finger.
"What are you thinking?" Mollie asked softly.
He unwound the curl, watching it fall softly against the pale milky curve of her neck. "Just that I'm lucky," he said. "I'm the luckiest bastard in Lima."
She smiled at him, propping her chin on her hand. "Not a Lima loser?" she said.
He tapped the deep dimple in her cheek lightly. "No way," he said. He sat up, setting his Coke down on the ground. "Hey, I wanna show you something."
"Besides the swing?" she said. She quirked an eyebrow. "Don't tell me. You finally cleared the thorn bush from behind the shed."
"Huh. You wish."
"All I'm saying is you'd better clear it out before Kurt learns to walk, because I already have panic-inducing visions of him toddling right into them," Mollie said.
Burt took her wrist gently and placed her hand on the underside of the swing. "Feel that?" he said.
Mollie frowned, her fingertips tracing along the edge. "Uh-huh, but I don't know what it is," she said.
He guided her fingers. "B…plus…M," he said.
"In the middle of a heart," she added. She looked up at him and smiled brightly, her summer-sunshine freckles dancing on her nose as the corners of her eyes crinkled up. "Why, Burt Hummel. You can be romantic when you feel like it."
"But only when I feel like it, though," he said. "I can only manage it once a year or so, so you're good for a while."
She smirked and leaned in to kiss him, her lips sticky-sweet from the soda. He closed his eyes and tilted her chin in the palm of his hand, pulling her in closer.
The baby monitor beneath them crackled with static as the little one began to whimper and Mollie pulled away. "The baby's awake," she said. "That didn't last long." She unfolded her slim legs and got up, patting his knee. The silver locket he'd given her after Kurt's birth swung gently before settling back in the soft hollow of her throat. "He probably just feels left out, since we're not gathered around his crib and adoring him. I'll be right back."
He smacked her lightly on the butt as she got up and she slapped his shoulder playfully. The glass storm door creaked as she went into the house and he leaned back in the swing, rocking back and forth with his drink in hand as he surveyed his front yard. He really was the luckiest bastard in Lima. A nice house, a steady job, a healthy little son, and the greatest wife a man could ask for. He still had no clue how he got so lucky, but he wasn't going to question. He stretched his arms across the back of the swing, his Coke bottle held between his fingers, and listened lazily to the atmosphere of the neighborhood- the heavy whirr of a lawnmower, the crackle of a grill, kids laughing on their swingsets.
"Here's Daddy," Mollie cooed as she nudged the door open with her elbow. "Don't cry, Kurt, here's your daddy."
Burt sat up and set the soda bottle on the ground. "He's not seriously crying for me, is he?" he asked, wiping condensation on the thigh of his jeans.
"Well, he at least wants attention," Mollie laughed, settling down on the swing with the baby on her lap. Kurt hiccupped and she kissed his round cheek, brushing a stray tear away. "There, honey. It's okay."
Burt chucked the baby under his chin, earning a little hint of a smile. "Hey, buddy," he said. "How come you didn't take a nap?"
Mollie held him up in front of her face. "Because I want attention, Daddy," she said in a high pitched voice, bouncing the baby on her knees. "Pay attention to me!"
"Mollie, don't do the goofy voice," Burt said, pained.
"Oh, come on, it's cute," she said. She made Kurt bat at Burt's face. "Hold me, Daddy! Please? Hold me!"
"Fine," Burt said. "But only so your mama will stop annoying me." He picked up the little boy and held him out at arm's length. "Hey, Kurt. What's up?"
"Oh, Burt, he's a baby," Mollie said, rolling her eyes. "Cuddle him, silly man." She took the baby back from him; Kurt instantly snuggled into her shoulder and tucked his thumb into his mouth. "See? It's not hard at all. And look how cute he is. You have to cuddle babies when they're this cute."
"If you say so," Burt said.
Mollie handed the baby back to him, this time placing him in the crook of Burt's elbow, and curved his arms around him. "I'm gonna break him," Burt warned.
"No, you're not," Mollie said serenely. "Here, just snuggle him a little closer…there. Perfect. See? That's not so hard, is it?"
Burt looked down. His tiny son regarded him solemnly, all big blue eyes and sweet round cheeks. "I guess not," he said.
It really wasn't so bad once Mollie had him settled. Kurt was small for three months- he'd been a few weeks premature, and a breech birth, but after the terror of Mollie's emergency C-section and the first anxious week of the baby's life in the incubator, they'd brought him home and he'd been healthy and happy ever since. They hadn't expected to have a baby. Mollie was only seventeen when she got pregnant, and he hadn't even thought about taking on the responsibility of a family. But now he couldn't imagine it any other way.
Mollie smoothed Kurt's soft chestnut hair and kissed his forehead. "Hi, sweet boy," she crooned. Kurt smiled at her around his thumb in his mouth and grabbed at her locket as it swung away from her neck, tiny fingers wrapping around the silver heart. She kissed his little fist. "You're my sweet boy, aren't you? And you're gonna be a daddy's boy, I bet."
"No, no, he's your kid," Burt said. "You kidding me? Every time you walk out of the room he just stares at the doorway with big ol' Bambi eyes till you come back."
"Well, maybe you're right," Mollie smiled as she untangled Kurt's fingers from her necklace. She kissed the tip of the baby's nose, then leaned in to kiss Burt's cheek. "But he's ours, in any case. All ours."
She rested her cheek against Burt's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, cuddling their son between them. "You know I love you and stuff, right?" he said.
"Mm-hm," she said, smiling as she stroked the baby's cheek. "And I love you too. And stuff."
He laughed, bending to kiss the top of her head.
I'll doze off safe and soundly, but I'll miss your arms around me...
The silence isn't so bad, till I look at my hands and feel sad
'Cause the spaces between your fingers are right where yours fit perfectly
Eight years later, Burt Hummel stared at the darkened ceiling, unable to sleep, playing that memory over and over in his mind. Eight years. Eight perfect years of marriage, eight years of sleeping beside her at night and sitting beside her on their swing and raising their son and dreaming of their future.
And now she was gone.
He knotted his hands together tightly on his stomach, his head aching from lack of sleep, and yet he couldn't drift off. It had been two days since he'd slept. Two days since they'd buried Mollie.
The little bundle of blankets beside him shifted and he glanced over lethargically. His little boy slept beside him, his thumb in his mouth and his blanket pulled up around his ears. The fragile skin around his eyes was red and puffy and swollen.
Burt reached over and cupped Kurt's cheek carefully in his broad palm. Kurt was trying so hard to be strong. He could see it. Already the little boy was striving to put the pieces back together, getting his own breakfast in the morning and putting his clothes away and making his bed as tidily as possible. But he knew Kurt was hurting. He could hear the child crying when he thought no one could hear him. He desperately wished he knew how to comfort him, but he didn't know how. Especially not now, when he didn't know how to keep just himself functioning.
Kurt burrowed tighter in his blanket cocoon, burying his face in the depths of Mollie's abandoned pillow. Burt smoothed a hand over his sleep-disheveled hair, watching the child sag in relief under the touch. It broke his heart a little further. Mollie was the best at comforting him; she had always been the parent he chose to run to when he was hurt or sick or upset. But she wasn't here. And she was never coming back.
Burt sat up slowly, careful not to wake his sleeping son, and tucked the comforter tighter around him before tiptoeing out of the room. The house was silent with the uneasy peace of a restless night, strange shadows falling along the family photos lining the staircase. His wife smiled at him from the frames; he looked down at the carpet instead.
The air felt stale and stifling without the cool relief of the bedroom fan, and for a second he thought he was going to go crazy in the heat. In a few steps he crossed to the front door and went out on the porch, the summer night falling around him with soothing relief. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and sank down on the porch swing.
The neighborhood was silent and still. Even the neighbor's dog was asleep, leaving nothing but the cool damp of the air and the soft whirring of cicadas. Burt rocked slowly on the swing, the chains squeaking faintly above his head. The white paint was dull and peeling in spots. Mollie had been after him to repaint it.
But she wasn't here to know if he painted it or not.
Burt leaned heavily on the armrest, his head sinking to the palm of his hand, and stared out at the empty street.. He missed her. He missed her so badly that it made him feel physically sick. He missed hearing her deep in conversation with Kurt, he missed seeing her hard at work at her piano, he missed the warmth of her arm draped around his waist as they fell asleep at night. He missed her fingers twining through his, the warm vanilla scent of her freshly-washed hair, the way her nose wrinkled when she laughed.
He sat on the swing for a long time, staring until his front yard blurred and no longer looked familiar, breathing slowly. The night felt heavy on his shoulders, and he didn't go inside until the sun began to turn the edges of the trees pink and gold. He didn't want Kurt to wake up and be scared to find him gone.
I'll sit on the front porch all night
Waist-deep in thoughts because when I think of you I don't feel so alone
As many time as I blink, I'll think of you tonight
Burt nudged the storm door open and wandered out onto the porch. It was late in the afternoon on the laziest Sunday he'd had in a while. The truck and the Navigator had both been washed and detailed, there wasn't a decent game on, and Kurt was out at his piano lesson, leaving him to fend for himself when it came to dinner. He didn't mind. Mostly.
He leaned on the porch railing for a while, surveying his front yard with a critical eye. The grass would probably need mowing, and the paint on the mailbox looked a little sad. Maybe he could get Kurt to give him a hand next weekend, get a little work done on the house. Something to keep them busy. They didn't get out much, the two of them. He had work, and Kurt had school, and that was about it. And now that it was summer, it seemed like Kurt almost never left the house except to go to his weekly piano lesson. He worried about his kid sometimes. Kurt needed friends.
Sometimes he wondered if he should have remarried. Given Kurt a new mom. Maybe had a couple more kids to keep him company. He didn't know what was worse- starting over again, redoing his life without Mollie, or trying and failing to raise a sensitive, lonely kid on his own.
Burt glanced back over his shoulder to see his son standing in the doorway. "Hey, kiddo," he said "When'd you get home? Don't you have piano for another hour?"
Kurt shrugged. "I didn't feel very good," he said. "I went home early."
Burt frowned. "What kind of not feeling good?" he asked. He beckoned him forward. "C'mere. You running a fever?"
"No, Dad, I'm okay," Kurt said, allowing Burt to brush his hair back and touch his forehead. "Just a stomachache."
"You wanna go sleep for a while?" Burt asked. "We can figure out something for dinner later."
"Not that hungry," Kurt said, looking down at his bare feet and rubbing his elbow.
Burt cleared his throat. "You, uh…want to talk about it?" he ventured.
Kurt didn't say anything. He sat down in the corner of the swing, tucking his legs up to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. Burt suppressed a sigh and sat down across from him. He wasn't so good at this whole talking thing, but he knew an upset kid when he saw it.
He rocked the swing thoughtfully, eyeing his son. Kurt stared down at his bare toes, the breeze ruffling his hair softly. His dark wash jeans were a little short at the ankle and his plain white tee shirt was a little tight across the chest- maybe the petit thirteen-year-old was finally hitting his growth spurt.
Kurt still didn't say anything. Burt reached over and stroked the back of his neck. "What's wrong, bud?" he asked. "You…you got something going on?"
Kurt bit his lower lip, staring blankly at the ground. A drop of blood rose up on his lip and Burt cupped his chin in his hand. "Hey," he said, pinching lightly until Kurt stopped biting down so hard. "Hey, what's wrong?"
"I just…really miss Mom, okay?" Kurt whispered.
Burt dropped his hand. "Where'd this come from?" he asked.
"It didn't come from anywhere," he said, still staring at his knees. "I just miss Mom. All the time. Just…today it was worse."
Burt exhaled slowly. This was what they tried to avoid- tried to pretend it didn't exist. They buried themselves in engines and car parts and piano practice and homework, trying to shove it down to something small and controlled. But it was there anyway.
"Don't you miss her anymore, Dad?" Kurt said bitterly. "Or is it just me?"
Burt started. "Oh, god, kiddo," he said. "Kurt, I miss her. I miss her all the time. You wouldn't believe how much."
"You don't act like it."
Burt leaned his head back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, well…neither of us like to talk about it, do we?" he said. "Do we…do we need to talk about it?"
Kurt huddled in a smaller ball, his arms tight around his knees. "Sometimes I go into your room and open up all the drawers in her vanity so I can smell her perfume," he confessed softly.
"Yeah," Burt said. He draped an arm around Kurt's shoulders. "I know."
He rubbed Kurt's upper arm gently. Kurt relaxed a little bit, his shoulders trembling just a little as he breathed out in relief. In so many ways Kurt was still a child- small for his age, his emotions still running unchecked, still looking for comfort and safety and praise from his father. But he was growing up, and fast. Already Burt had caught him studying his reflection in the mirror, poking and prodding at the baby fat in his cheeks and trying to see how he would look when he was older. The bathroom counter was littered with combs and acne face wash, and he was hiding a bottle of vanilla body lotion under the sink. Burt could smell it on his skin, warm and sweet, and suddenly he was fiercely nostalgic for the old days, when Kurt would cuddle on his lap with his hair still damp and smelling of baby shampoo, and Mollie would sit beside him, playing with his little hands and cooing at him till he smiled.
"You remind me of her, you know," Burt mused. "You look like her. Big blue eyes, and all those freckles." Kurt wrinkled his nose, and Burt grinned. "You act like her a lot too. I don't think you know that, but you do. You've, uh…you've got the same laugh."
He felt his son lean against him, just the slightest bit. "I forget what she sounded like," Kurt whispered. "I mean, we've got the videos and stuff, but…it's not the same. It's not the same at all, Daddy."
Burt pulled him into his side and Kurt leaned against him, dropping his head on his knee. "I feel like that sometimes too," he admitted. He raked his fingers through Kurt's thick silky hair. "But we won't forget her. Ever. I promise."
Kurt sighed deeply. "Dad?" he ventured.
"What, kiddo?" he asked, rocking the swing lightly as he moved to rub Kurt's back.
"Do you think somebody will love me as much as you love Mom?"
Burt paused. He wasn't ready for his little boy to be in love. That was a whole can of worms he didn't want to open. Not till Kurt was about…thirty, at least. Kurt should be riding his bike around the neighborhood and singing along to Disney movies, not thinking about falling in love.
But if his son had to grow up, he wanted him to be loved. He wanted him to be happy, and whole, and cared for like he deserved.
"Yeah," he said at last. "Yeah, somebody's gonna love you as much as your mama and I love each other."
That seemed to satisfy him, and Kurt settled down across the swing, closing his eyes as they rocked lightly back and forth. Burt kept stroking his bright hair as they sat in silence.
How am I gonna get this kid to grow up without screwing him up? he thought.
For the umpteenth time he missed his wife, not just because of the empty ache in his chest when he thought of her, but because of the little boy had to grow up without his mother there to love him.
When violet eyes get brighter
And heavy wings grow lighter
I'll taste the sky and feel alive again
And I'll forget the world that I knew
Burt leaned on the railing of the back deck and surveyed the party proudly. His boys were official high school graduates. And sure, in a few months Finn would be off at basic training and Kurt would be in New York, but for right now they were just kids, hanging out with their friends and clowning around in the pool. Let them be kids now, for one last night, before they had to grow up and leave.
He glanced over and grinned at his wife. "It's fun just watching them," he said. "Finn's a hoot on the diving board."
"Coordination has never been his strong suit," Carole admitted. She handed him a cupcake. "Here, eat it quick, before Kurt notices."
He laughed. "It's a party, the kid had better let me eat what I want," he said.
Carole rubbed his shoulder. "They seem to be having a good time," she said. "I think they were surprised."
"After all the work you put in, they'd better be," Burt snorted. He hugged her around the waist and kissed her on the cheek. "I don't know how you managed to throw a party that made both kids happy, but you did."
"That's what mothers are there for," Carole smiled. She squeezed his arm. "I'm going to go see if we need some more ice."
"Hey, could you, uh…could you tell Kurt to come over here?" he asked. "I've got something for him."
She nodded and went down the steps into the backyard. Burt peeled the wrapper off the cupcake and gazed at the party going on beneath him. His yard was filled with teenagers shouting and laughing and singing at each other, splashing around in the pool and goofing around as they sprawled across the soft grass. He grinned in pride as he watched his two sons. His boys couldn't be more different, but they were the best kids in the world. And watching their shock at the surprise party had been hilarious. Finn was easy to please- four kinds of pizza, five kinds of soda, a good play list on the stereo, and the opportunity to have his girlfriend in a bikini was all he needed to be happy. On the other hand, Kurt was notoriously picky- but Carole was clever. She'd found his Pinterest account and poked around on his party ideas board to get ideas. Cupcakes from his favorite bakery, brightly colored Chinese lanterns and white twinkle lights hanging from the trees, some kind of punch-type drink with sherbet and cut-up fruit stuff in it- Kurt had been rendered speechless and could only hug his stepmother in overwhelmed thanks as she laughed.
Burt took a bite of the cupcake and grinned to himself. Things were good. Things were very, very good.
"Hey, Dad! Carole said you were looking for me."
He leaned away from the porch railing as his son hopped up the steps and walked over to him. It stung a little to see how damn grown-up Kurt had gotten- tall and slender, his shoulders broad, his arms faintly muscular, his slim legs a mile long (and who knew which side of the family tree that had come from). But in so many ways he was still Burt's sweet little boy, especially now with his hair tousled from swimming and a faint pink blush of sunburn across his nose and cheeks.
"Yeah, bud," Burt said, setting the cupcake down on the plate and beckoning to him. "C'mere. I got something for him."
"Dad," Kurt huffed. "You've gotten me enough presents. I'm just graduating from high school, not receiving the Nobel Peace Prize."
"Yeah, well, if you haven't figured it out by now, you're kind of spoiled," Burt grinned. Kurt rolled his eyes. "This isn't from me. This is, uh…this is from your mom."
Kurt halted, his blue eyes going wide. "From Mom?" he echoed, his voice soft.
Burt fumbled in his back pocket and pulled out the little box. The corners of the wrapping paper were heavily creased and white along the edges from the past ten years in storage, but the signature on the tag- to my little boy when he graduates from high school- was still sharp and crystal-clear. "You know how she wrote all those letters to you for special days and stuff?" he said. "She set aside some presents too. She left you presents for your twenty-first birthday, your college graduation…your wedding day."
Kurt's eyes were already looking a little too bright, and there was a lump rising in the back of Burt's throat. "Here," he said, thrusting the box into his son's hands. "That's for you. From your mom."
Kurt unwrapped the tiny box carefully, almost reverently, setting the paper down on the porch railing. He lifted the lid gingerly and pulled out the gift inside. A small silver heart dangled on a delicate chain that clung to his fingers.
Burt cleared his throat. He hadn't seen that locket in years. "That was hers," he said. "I got it for her the day you were born. She wore it a lot, you've probably seen it in photos. She kept a picture of you inside of it, but…"
His voice trailed off as Kurt picked at the clasp and it sprung open. There was a tiny note inside, folded up small, and Kurt cupped it in his hands. "It's kind of girly, I guess, but if you want to get it turned into one of those pin things you like…"
"No, no, it's…it's perfect," Kurt said, closing the locket back up. He wrapped his arms around Burt's neck, the locket clasped tightly in his hand, and Burt hugged him close. Kurt rested his cheek against his shoulder. "I miss her, Dad. I love Carole, but…I wish she was here."
Burt just hugged him tighter, unable to speak. Kurt kissed him on the cheek and pulled away. "I'm going to show Blaine," he said, holding the locket to his chest. Burt nodded and watched him cross the yard.
His son's boyfriend was sitting on the white porch swing. They'd brought it over from the old house, wrapped carefully in old blankets to protect it in the moving van, and hung it up on the backyard from the low-hanging branch of the old oak tree. Blaine sat there by himself, watching the others clown around in the pool with a smile on his face, and looked up as Kurt sat down beside him.
Burt picked up his abandoned cupcake and took a thoughtful bite. Kurt held out the locket in his cupped hands, talking quickly, and Blaine reached out to gently touch his fingertip to the silver heart. He nodded at something Kurt said and picked it up as Kurt turned around, draping the chain around his neck and fastening the clasp carefully. Kurt touched the locket as it rested in the hollow of his throat, and Blaine leaned in to press a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. His fingers still tucked around the heart, Kurt shifted around to sit close to Blaine, draping an arm around his shoulders and leaning in close to press his cheek against his chest. Blaine rocked the swing gently back and forth, toying with Kurt's hair as he talked softly to him.
Burt took the last bite of the cupcake, savoring the forbidden taste of sugary vanilla butter cream, and brushed the crumbs from his hands. Yes, things were good. Three years ago he couldn't have imagined what things would be like, that he would be happily married again, that he would have two sons instead of one, that he would be happy in his work and happy in his home, that his son would be surrounded by friends and successful in school and deeply in love with someone who so clearly loved him back.
But at the same time there was a little empty space, somewhere in the back of his heart, a space that belonged to his first love and his first love only. His wife, the mother of his son, the dearest love he'd ever known, the girl he'd lost.
His empty hand curved a little, as if he could feel the touch of her hand, the squeeze of her fingers locked in his, and he gazed across the yard, lost in thought, almost enjoying the faint pleasant ache in his heart as he watched his son and let himself remember.
But I swear I won't forget you
Oh, if my voice could reach back in the past, I'd whisper in your ear
"Oh darling, I wish you were here."
A very, very, very long time ago, someone told me on Tumblr that the song "Vanilla Twilight" made them think of Burt and Mollie, and prompted me to write something for it. I played around with it, but was never quite happy with what I came up with and left it alone. But the other day it came up on my iPod and the story just unfolded in my head, and I wrote this in two days' time.
I really love exploring all the backstory that made Burt and Kurt the people that they are. And I know that Mollie is technically an OC, but to me she feels like a living, breathing character. It breaks my heart to write about her dying. And I feel like losing her was such a major catalyst for both of the Hummel men.
It's also really interesting to play around with Burt's character and his thought process. He's usually so sensible and straight-forward and stoic, but I feel like there is a part of him, deep down, that will always miss his wife, but he doesn't like to acknowledge it. The moment in the first season episode when Kurt comes out to him and he tells Kurt that his mom would have been proud to see him at the football game just breaks my heart, because it's just like...neither of them can forget about her, but it just seems like they pretend that they don't want to talk about it, for the sake of not hurting the other. And then later when Kurt blurts out to Finn about how he opens up the drawers in his mother's dresser and lies down on the floor to smell her perfume...it's such an impulsive thing, especially for a boy who doesn't really open up to people about serious things, and again, heart broken. Litle bitty heart shards all over the floor. And then at the wedding when Burt talks about how he lost the love of his life and it just killed him that his son lost his mother and...
Yeah. I need to stop babbling.
In any case, I really loved writing this and I just want to cuddle Kurt and bring Mollie back to life so everyone will be happy and ughhhhhh. I am rolling in feels.
Also, I wore my silver heart-shaped locket today. Just because. YOLO and whatnot.