A/N: Thank you for all the faves and reviews on the stories I submitted recently! I'm new to and the positive feedback meant a lot to me.

"Daddy!"

Burt kneels and scoops his son into a hug. "Hey, kiddo."

The entryway is a flurry of noise and movement as the other children spill out of the classrooms to flee to their respective parents. Kurt wraps his arms around Burt's neck, "Missed you."

Kurt has been clingy since Julianne's death. Burt noticed it, his mother noticed it, even Kurt's teacher had sent a note home gushing about how cute he was and the amount of time he spends talking about him in class. Everyone had told him that it was normal, but Burt felt overwhelmed nonetheless; raising Kurt had already been difficult with his wife, but being the sole center of Kurt's attention was draining, to say the least.

"Dad, daddy," Kurt is suddenly gasping, pulling away from Burt's embrace. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"I made you something," Kurt pulls his schoolbag from his back and drops it between the two of them, rifling through the little blue bag, pulling out things as he goes. A spiral notebook hits the floor, yellow with pictures of his family taped precariously to the cover; a white pencil pouch filled with gel pens and sharpened pencils follows. An array of miscellaneous stickers and flowers fall out, probably given to him by the girls in his class, Burt thinks proudly.

Finally, the boy finds what he is looking for, folded neatly when he hands it over to his dad.

Smiling, Burt unfolds the thick white construction paper and feels all the air leave his lungs when he finds an elaborate drawing of his mother done in an array of different colored crayons and pencils, one much like the framed one he keeps on the mantle, the only picture of Julianne he hadn't taken down or locked away. For a children's drawing, it's surprisingly well done. Burt figures that he must have spent an obscene amount of time on the picture, drawing it in secret with the school's art supplies when the teacher wasn't looking.

It's the nicest thing Kurt has ever done for him short of being born. The thought is cheesy enough to make Burt cringe, but he doesn't deny its truth.

"I don't see mommy on the walls anymore," Kurt reasons, oblivious to Burt's shock, "and since that picture on the fireplace is your favorite, I thought you'd want a copy if it got broken." Now he looks sheepish, toeing the brown carpet as a blush creeps into his cheeks. "I can't use a copier 'cause you'd get mad, so I just drew it the best I could."

Burt has no words. His throat closes off and tears threaten to spill down his cheeks. Kurt seems to be hiding tears of his own, trying to wipe his shiny eyes with the back of his hand inconspicuously. He pulls Kurt - his wonderful, beautiful son - into a tight hug, mumbling into his hairline, "It's perfect, thank you, Kurt."

For once, Burt feels like everything will be alright. He can raise Kurt to be a good man, and the realization coupled with the hope that it comes with is the best feeling in the world, like finally seeing the sun at the end of a tunnel on a packed highway.

Kurt pats his dad's back. "Daddy, I can't breathe."