Title: Nothing's So Loud (1/10)
Media: Fic
Author:
a_glass_paradeRating: PG-13 to mild R in the future.
Pairing: Kurt/Blaine, reference to past Quinn/Finn and current Rachel/Finn
Genre: Romance, AU, Movie Adaptations
Warnings: Mentions of attempted suicide.
Spoilers: While events and references from all three seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Currently 5100+
Summary: Blaine Anderson is the easy going skateboarding slacker who's carried a torch for sheltered class Valedictorian Kurt Hummel for the last year. On the day they graduate from high school, he decides to do something about it. There's no way they should work. Everything will conspire against them. Can this unlikely pairing prevail?
Additional Notes:
gameboycolor and
naderegen wanted 90's Klaine. I suggested updating Cameron Crowe's iconic movie "Say Anything" to 1998 and make Blaine and Kurt into an analogue of Lloyd and Diane's star-crossed romance. This very loose adaptation, for better or for worse, is the result. Title is from the song "All I Want" by Toad the Wet Sprocket.
“...look, it's just when Mr. Schuester uses the word love while signing my yearbook, I think pedo.” Quinn shuddered and shook her pink tinged bangs out of her eyes. In the next instant she'd slammed her yearbook shut and tossed it aside. “It's creepy.”
Jeff rolled his head from looking at Quinn to looking at their mutual best friend, who was staring out of Quinn's bedroom window with his Slushie cup half empty and dangling forgotten from his hand. “Blaine. She's being difficult.”
Blaine looked up, feeling as if he'd just awoken from a deep sleep. “I'm going to go out with Kurt Hummel again.”
Quinn and Jeff exchanged glances, trying to decide who was going to have to be the one to break the news to Blaine. Quinn lost the surreptitious game of Rock, Paper, Scissors and took a deep breath. “Blaine. You kind of had to have gone out on a date in the first place.”
“We did! We totally went on a date.” He sat up and slurped at his Slushie before using it to gesture at his friends. “We ate together at Lima Mall. In the food court. That's a date.”
“That is so not a date, Blaine,” Quinn scoffed. “It's not even a scam.”
“You just sort of ate...near him,” Jeff pointed out as he ambled over to Quinn's stereo. With a practiced gesture, he flipped the lid of the CD player up and extracted the Red Hot Chili Peppers disc that Quinn had put on, exchanging it for Mighty Mighty Bosstones over her strenuous objections. “Like, he was there, and you were there, and there was eating, but it was a coincidence?” He flopped back down to his spot by the bed, all arms and legs sprawling over the floor.
Blaine looked at Quinn, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “What's a scam?”
“Going out as friends.” Quinn shrugged and stopped glaring murderously at Jeff, turning her attention to tuning her guitar.
“No, it's not,” Jeff objected. “A scam is lusting.”
Now Blaine felt even more confused than ever. “Well, Jesus, what the hell constitutes a date, then?”
“A date means prearrangement,” was Jeff's response as he picked his bright red graduation gown up from where it was draped over a chair in Quinn's bedroom. “Like making reservations. Come on, we've gotta get ready.” He tilted his head to look at his blue checkered Vans. “Maybe I should have worn my red Chucks.”
“So do not want to do this,” Quinn grumbled, shoving her guitar off of her lap to crawl off of the bed. “God, Schuester probably got Finn to agree to lurch all over the stage and sing something stupid from the 80's as a farewell, and I just can't.”
Blaine hadn't moved. “I'm doing it. I'm going to ask him out.” His friends groaned in unison, Quinn actually picking up a pillow and throwing it directly at him.
“Kurt Hummel doesn't go out with guys like you.” Quinn threw her hands in the air when Blaine just grinned and tossed the pillow back. “Kurt's a Drama nut. And a total Brain.”
Jeff sighed. “Trapped in the body of one of Madonna's back up dancers.” Quinn shot him a glare, causing him to hold his hands out defensively. “Hey! I'm just saying what we're all thinking. I've been in dance class with him for years. He's bendy.” He dove away from Quinn with a yelp when she advanced on him with another pillow and malicious intent in her eyes.
“That's what I like about him! Well, not the bendy thing. Well, not just the bendy thing.” He was oblivious to his friends chasing each other around Quinn's bedroom, lost in his reverie. “He's got the greatest eyes. And he's smart, otherwise he wouldn't be Valedictorian. But he doesn't seem to care. He's just Kurt.” Tipping his head back, Blaine smiled blissfully. “And that's awesome.”
Contenting herself with simply hurling the pillow at Jeff, Quinn turned back to Blaine, tugging worriedly at the ends of her pink shag. “Look, Blaine. You're a good guy. A great guy. We...we just don't want to see you get hurt.”
He'd had enough. Tossing his Slushie cup into the wastebasket by his chair, Blaine jumped to his feet and stalked out the door. He paused only once to snatch up his own cap and gown, glaring sulkily at his best friends while he did.
“You know what?” he snapped out, twisting the red polyester in his hands. “I want to get hurt!”
Kurt shuffled through his index cards, biting down on his lower lip as he fretted over his valedictory speech. “I don't know if they'll like it. If they'll get it,” he moaned, shoving a hand through his hair.
“Didn't you tell me not to chew on my lips because it's bad for them?” Burt Hummel dropped a plate of eggs and toast on the table. “Come on, kid. Eat something. Your speech is fine, you're gonna do great.”
“I'm not hungry.” He swallowed down the lump of apprehension in his throat, regretting it immediately as it turned into a leaden burden in his stomach. “Couldn't eat a thing.”
“Kurt...” Burt's voice brooked no argument, and he backed up his stance by marching around the table and snatching the little cards out of his son's hands, ignoring his squawks of protest. “Eat some toast, maybe some eggs, and we'll talk about me giving these back to you. You may be a high school graduate, but I'm still your dad, kiddo.”
Kurt picked up a slice of toast, nibbling at the edges. It tasted like cardboard. “I don't think they'll like it. They don't really like me. They don't know me.” He tossed the toast down. “Can I just be sick?”
“Not a chance. I bought a camcorder just for the occasion. You're gonna give me my money's worth.” Burt reached across the table and grabbed his only son's hand. “Come on, Kurt. Whaddaya mean, they don't like you? You got friends. That Mercedes girl, and Rachel, they like you.”
“Two people out of a school population of 1,200 doesn't really constitute me being popular and liked, Dad.” Kurt forced on a smile, knowing from his father's worried frown that he wasn't fooling Burt for a minute. He also didn't feel like explaining that those two friendships ended at the doors of McKinley High School - he talked about the girls so much only because they were the only kids in school who really talked to him at all. Sighing, he looked away. “It's just that I bother people, Dad. I'm too different. And a few of them know that...that I'm...well.”
“You're gay.” Burt was blunt, but he could afford to be. He'd known about his son's sexual orientation for two years now and in that time he'd come to accept it. For him, it was a fact of life, no more, no less. He knew it was different for most of the rest of the world, though. “You never said...did they ever give you any kind of crap for that? You know you coulda told me if they had. I'd have been there for you.”
“I know you would have, but no, no one ever really gave me crap. It made them uncomfortable, so they just...stayed away. Far away. Thank God, really. It could have been so different.” Kurt shrugged and cast his eyes down to hide the hurt he knew lurked there. He'd been so very fortunate that they hadn't been tormented or run out of town due to his orientation. That didn't make isolation any less a painful thing to deal with. “And then I took all those classes off campus...it's okay, really, I needed the time to study instead of socialize. But now I'm a stranger graduating at the top of their class, speaking to them like I know better than they do what's out there. It's stupid.”
“Aw, kid...” Burt was at a loss for words. Ever since his wife had died when Kurt was young, he'd tried to do his best for his son. But he'd had to split his time between being around for him and running his tire shop so that he could afford to give the kid the best life possible. Sometimes he worried he hadn't gotten it quite right. He remembered high school, Kurt should have been out partying and getting himself grounded these last four years. But it had never happened. Not even once.
“It's fine.” Kurt looked back up, his emotions under control and his smile a little more genuine. “I'm just running off at the mouth. Nerves, you know.” Shoveling two forkfuls of eggs into his mouth, he chewed quickly and held his hand out for his index cards. “May I have those back, please? I'll read my favorite line to you.”
“Oh, all right.” Burt handed the cards over, shaking his head. “Finish that slice of toast.”
“In a minute.” Kurt took a deep breath. “I've got something to tell everybody,” he read from the card, a blush rising in his cheeks. “I've glimpsed our future, and all I can say is...go back.”
Burt threw his head back and laughed uproariously. “That's great, kiddo.”
“Thanks.” Kurt smiled again and glanced over at the red graduation gown draped over the back of the sofa, sighing. “I guess I'd better get ready. Ugh.”
“Hey, you only gotta wear it once,” Burt chuckled, following his son's gaze. “And anyway, you look pretty good in red.”
“That's true,” Kurt mused, tipping his head to the side. “I just wish it hadn't had to be polyester...”
“I have run, I have crawled,” Finn Hudson belted, looking like nothing so much as a very earnest, constipated infant. “I have scaled these city walls, these city walls...only to be with you.” His voice rang out over the McKinley High's PA system, generally in tune but overall displaying more enthusiasm than talent. Blaine bit his lip to hold back the hysterical giggles he felt rising in his throat.
“Kill me now,” Quinn muttered into Blaine's ear, her long beaded earrings brushing his cheek. Her fingers twined in with his and she squeezed a little too tight in her agitation. “Please. I'll pay you.”
Ouch. He untangled his fingers and squeezed her arm considerably more gently. “Sorry, Quincy. No can do. I already logged my hours by your hospital bedside. I don't think I can read 'Grimm's Fairy Tales' aloud a fifth time. ” They exchanged affectionate smiles, and Blaine was reminded again how lucky they all were that her suicide attempt last fall hadn't been successful. “Besides. The song's not too long.”
“It's long enough.” They both winced as Finn sang about how he felt the healing in her fingertips and pointed at his girlfriend Rachel, class Salutatorian and the girl he'd been cheating on Quinn with. “And deeply, deeply painful. Are you sure you won't put me out of my misery?”
“Aw, Lucy Goosey. I'd rather put him out of yours.” He poked at her sides, knowing exactly how much ticklish pressure was needed to jolly a tiny smile out of her as she tried not to burst out laughing. “C'mon, Lucy Goosey. Smile for me.”
“Will it get you to stop calling me all these childish nicknames?” Her acid tone was belied by the giggles she was trying to stifle. “Honestly, we're graduates now, Blainers. Besides, no one calls me Lucy anymore. I even got Figgins to promise not to put it on my diploma.”
“Never. You're my Lucy Goosey and my Quincy right up till the day you die. Of natural causes, as an old lady with a dozen tattoos and as many Grammy awards.” He tickled her one last time. “And you're smiling, which was the whole point.”
She ducked her head, plugging her fingers into her ears as Finn let them all know that Rachel had carried the cross of my shame, oooooof myyyyyy shaaaaaame. “He doesn't have any shame at all,” she mumbled. “Good thing, too, Rachel would snap like a twig under the burden of it if he did. Tiny little dweeb. Look at them! He's gigantic, she's an elf, how the hell do they even have sex?”
“With a complicated system of ropes and pulleys,” Blaine replied in a blithe whisper, earning another giggle from Quinn and glares from the row in front of them. He buried his head in her shoulder in a vain effort to get himself under control.
But he sat up straight as Principal Figgins thanked Finn - who was shouting now about the party at Puck's tonight - and then began to introduce Kurt as the class Valedictorian. He moved to the podium with a stack of index cards clutched in his hand, shuffling them as he prepared to speak. “Oh, God. How does he make even this stupid robe look so good?”
“Blaine...” Quinn sighed and leaned her head onto his shoulder. “Stop it. You're a skateboard freak who wears vintage rock band t-shirts you got at Goodwill. Kurt got a 1600 on his SAT and wears vintage, I don't know, Givenchy or something. He's not for you.”
“He really has the best eyes. He looks amazing.” Blaine leaned forward and propped his chin on his hands. “I gotta ask him out.”
A groan from Quinn. “Does he even know you exist?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. If he doesn't, he will. Soon.” He flapped his hand at her in a shushing motion. “He's going to speak!”
At the podium, Kurt cleared his throat and made one last mental rearrangement of his speech before opening his mouth to speak. He found his nervousness at public speaking surprising; after all, he'd spent the last several years performing and studying acting. He'd taken speech and diction classes and even spent his sophomore and junior year on the debate team.
Maybe it was because right now, he wasn't performing for a faceless audience. He could see every one of his classmates in the bleachers, squinting through the sunshine to catch a glimpse of the guy the Principal had just announced as the top of their class. Trying to figure out either who he was or who the hell he thought he was.
And the words typed neatly on the white cards before him, this wasn't an Ibsen monologue or sonnet for a dramatic reading. Kurt had written these words himself, had sweated and starved to get them exactly right...only to read them to three hundred people he barely knew. Would his speech mean anything to them? Did Valedictory speeches ever mean anything to anyone?
Briefly, Kurt had the hysterical urge to simply recite the lyrics to “You Must Love Me” from the Evita film soundtrack and walk right off of the stage. Or maybe something by the Spice Girls would be funnier. With a hard swallow, he cut off the frantic giggle that was building in his throat and simply dove into his speech.
“My name is Kurt Hummel, and I don't know many of you,” he admitted with as much frank honesty in his words as he could muster, watching several of his classmates jump at hearing his high, clear voice for the first time. “Nor do most of you know me. And I'm sorry about that -” a lie, but graduation was the time when people fibbed a bit to make other people feel better, he figured - “because I missed out on a lot of things that normal people do in high school. Making friends and going to football games, or dances, or parties.” He smiled as this elicited a cheer from his classmates, most of whom looked like they spent 98% of their time partying.
Pausing for breath, he looked down at his cards again and gathered himself. “But my time spent with my nose in my books or going to off-campus classes and workshops has given me one valuable bit of perspective that I thought I ought to share with you today, on this day when we are poised on the cusp of nominal adulthood.” Pause. Breath. “I have glimpsed our future, my fellow graduates, and all I can say is...go back.”
One laugh in the sudden silence, from his father. Kurt stifled a sigh. But there was Quinn Fabray in the pool of graduates, all pink hair and bad attitude - she'd smiled a little. And the boy upon whose shoulder she was leaning her head, with his big bright eyes and charming encouraging smile, he seemed to have liked it as well. Kurt smiled shyly back at him before resuming. “In a few months, we'll all be going to college or doing other things that are supposed to be the start of the rest of our lives, and...my good gentlemen and ladies of the class of 1998, I submit to you this question: how do we even know we're ready for that?”
A dismayed murmur started up amongst the adults in the audience, while his classmates began to look more interested. Kurt hid a smirk of satisfaction, feeling the last of his bubbling nervousness drain away. “We all read what we're told to read, we fill in the Scantrons, being careful to not go outside the lines of the circles. We join the clubs we're told will help us and we tell everyone what our major will be like there's not a good chance we'll change it three times just before our junior year of college!” The students were beginning to cheer now, bolstering his confidence as much as it surprised him. “I ask again, how do we know we're ready?”
He went silent and watched the cheering audience until they, too, began to go quiet and wait for his next words. “We don't,” he finally said. “We don't know we're ready. I know I don't know that I am. But I know also that while I said we should all go back - the only way to find out if we're ready is to just go ahead and do it. Move forward, no matter how scared you are. And let me tell you, my friends...” Kurt trailed off and looked down for a second before tipping his head back up and locking eyes with the brightly smiling boy who had encouraged him earlier. “I personally am scared to death.”
Blaine pressed his Polaroid camera into Quinn's reluctant hands. “Please, Quinn. Please?”
“This is so embarrassing,” she moaned. “I am begging you, Blaine, don't make me do it.” She tried to shove the camera back at him, but he refused, backing away with a cheery grin.
“Don't drop it or my sister will kill you,” he warned. With a wink, he began backing away. “Wait 'til I'm right behind him, okay?”
Jeff slung an arm around Quinn as she dropped her face into one palm, letting out an inarticulate noise that was a cross between a growl and a groan. “Come on, Quinn. Don't worry so much, you know Blaine. He's never into any one guy for very long. He's got too much going on with the skate shop and trying to get sponsorship deals for himself. This'll be over soon.”
But Quinn was chewing on her lower lip when she lifted her head, watching Blaine amble off across the school's front lawn. Her delicate eyebrows furrowed together as she considered everything. “No, I don't think so, Jeff,” she murmured slowly, beginning to walk herself. “I'm thinking this one's going to be trouble.”
When they finally moved to catch up to Blaine, he was standing behind a tree and watching Kurt and his father engage in an animated conversation. He swatted away Quinn's last half-hearted effort to give him the camera back. “Okay. Okay. I'm gonna just, you know, walk up behind him. You ready, Quincy?”
“Quit calling me Quincy, or I'll not only not take the picture, I will shove this camera into a soft place where the corners will hurt you a lot,” snarled his friend. Blaine merely grinned and danced out of her reach.
“Whatever you say, Lucy Goosey.” He waved and sauntered as casually as he could over to the general vicinity of the Hummels. As he neared them, trembling just a little, he could pick up bits and pieces of their conversation.
“...no, Dad, it's fine,” he could hear Kurt arguing, a tight little smile on his face. “I don't want to go to a party. Really, I don't.”
Burt Hummel was clearly unhappy. “It's just that you were sayin' this morning - hell, right up there on that stage you said...” At his son's irritated glare, he trailed off, clearly relenting. “Never mind, then. Listen. It's a happy day, let's be happy. I got you a little somethin'.” Placing both hands on his son's shoulders, he turned him around and pointed to a blue Honda CRX parked at a nearby curb. “Happy Graduation, Kurt.”
“Are you kidding me?” Kurt gasped, thrusting a hand out to point at the car himself. He glanced back over his shoulder at his father. “That?”
At that moment, Blaine dodged behind Kurt to give Quinn the high sign. With a roll of her eyes, she complied, snapping the photo and ducking back behind her tree. When Blaine came around, she was leaning against it with a sardonic smirk twitching at the corners of her mouth, fanning the picture to get it to develop.
“Thanks, Quinn.” He snatched away the photo and smiled happily, ignoring her eyeroll and the kick she aimed at his shin with her Doc Martens. Sticking a finger under her chin, he tipped it up so he could kiss her cheek. “I owe you one.”
“Good. I'm cashing in now.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, drawing Blaine's attention to where Jeff was happily chatting with Judy Fabray. “Get me out of here before she starts in on me too hard.”
“Too late.” Blaine patted Quinn on the head as Judy spotted them and waved frantically to get their attention. Quinn heaved a gusty sigh, leading Blaine to wrap a comforting arm around her slender shoulders. “Don't sweat it. Jeff and I will do our best to keep her off of you and we'll get out of here, okay? I'll buy you a huge Snickers Blizzard when we go to lunch.”
“Damn right you will,” she muttered at him as they approached Jeff and Judy. “Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, Quinnie,” Judy fretted, her hands flitting and fluttering around her daughter's face and shoulders like hummingbirds, in frantic motion but never actually alighting anywhere. “I wish you had let me take you to Antonio to have your hair fixed before today.”
A tight smile crossed Quinn's lips at her mother's idea of a suitable greeting. “My hair is fine, Mom.” It was an argument they'd had for the last seven months, ever since Quinn had been released from the hospital and decided to radically alter her image. Blaine squeezed her shoulders again.
“Ms. F, we're all gonna go get lunch together now. Is that all right?” He smiled broadly, the big charming grin that parents found impossible to resist, despite his general frowsy, slightly rumpled appearance. “Then I'll drop Quinn off and she can get ready for Puck's party.” But this was too far, and he had to conceal a grimace as Quinn dug a pointy elbow into his ribs. Judy's face creased in worry.
“Quinnie, are you sure you're up to a party?”
Quinn dug her elbow harder into Blaine's side, smiling ever more brightly as he began to whimper. “I'm fine, Mom. It's fine. It's the official graduation party, I want to go.”
“If you're sure.” Judy's fluttering hands picked up speed in her anxiety, but still she did not touch her daughter. “Don't forget, Quinnie, when you go, don't talk to Finn, all right?”
“Jesus, Mom, it's going to be fine.” Quinn had reached the limits of her patience and shoved Blaine's arm off, stalking towards the battered Impala that was the only car she allowed her father to buy her after he had walked out on her and Judy. Blaine and Jeff smiled apologetically at Ms. Fabray, who transferred her hummingbird fluttering to them.
“It's all right, boys. I know Quinnie's had a rough year.” Her smile was tremulous as she finally calmed down enough to seize them both in a hug. “You all looked wonderful, I'm so proud. Happy graduation, boys.”
“Thanks, Ms. F,” they chorused as she released them and wandered off. Jeff nudged Blaine's shoulder. “C'mon, dude. Let's see if Quinn's okay. You know how she gets.”
“Yeah...” Blaine stuffed his hands into his pockets as they headed for Quinn's car. Their path took them past where Kurt and Burt Hummel were seated inside Kurt's own new vehicle. Burt's hands were in constant motion as he seemed to be earnestly explaining the mechanics of driving stick shift to his son. Kurt was nodding while his father spoke, a tiny frown of concentration drawing his eyebrows together.
“Blaine?” Jeff had paused, glancing over his shoulder and realizing that his friend had stopped walking. With a shrug, he strolled backwards until he was back at Blaine's side. “Hey. Blaine. Quinn?”
“Yeah! Yeah, okay.” Blaine shook his head and resumed his amble, sighing as he saw Quinn leaning against her car, stomping out one cigarette butt after using it to light the fresh one she'd poked between her bright red lips. The expression on her face could only be described as thunderous, making it clear that it was going to be another one of those afternoons. Poor Quinn.
Casting a quick glance back over his shoulder, Blaine inadvertently made eye contact with Kurt Hummel, who had been staring after him with a faint smile of amused curiosity on his gorgeous face.
“Kurt? Are you even listening to me?” Burt's voice cut through the haze of Kurt's thoughts of the curly haired skater guy who'd just passed him, the one who'd had the bright encouraging smile during his speech. He looked vaguely familiar, as if Kurt had spoken to him recently, but he couldn't quite place it. Oh, well, he thought, turning his attention back to his father.
“Yes! I've got it. I press the clutch when I want to change gears. Don't force the gear change with the stick. Brake when I want to stop. When I start moving again, gently apply the accelerator with a feather light touch.” He started the car and disengaged the parking brake, keeping his foot on the foot brake as he turned to smile at his father. “This is...amazing. Thank you, Dad.”
“Well, you're welcome.” Burt's tone was affectionate and gruff all at once, his smile warm as he looked proudly at his son. “It's used, and I don't really know much about these little rice-mobiles, but I wanted you to have somethin' decent and fuel efficient. Jim at the imports place has been helping me fix this up for you.”
“But you haven't been working too hard, right?” Kurt was suddenly anxious. Burt's doctor had let them know four months ago that the elder Hummel's cholesterol levels were higher than he liked. He'd recommended medication but Burt had asked for a chance to try regulating it through diet first. Reluctantly, the physician had consented on the proviso that Burt cut back his hours at the shop as well. “Dad, you haven't been overdoing it, right?”
“I'm fine, Kurt.” The gruffness was less affectionate now; Burt loathed being coddled. “Let's see if you can get us home without stalling.”
He couldn't. It took forty-five minutes to get back to their house, a journey that usually took less than half that time. They'd had to take a circuitous, winding route to avoid heavily trafficked streets, and Kurt had stalled no fewer than fifteen times. By the time they actually arrived home they were both frazzled and snappish.
Kurt had never felt so stupid in his life. Kids drove stick all the time, he knew they did, how come he couldn't figure it out? He guessed it just went to show you that being Valedictorian really didn't mean a damn thing in the real world. It was rather ironically amusing to be presented with such a concrete example of that lesson on the very afternoon he graduated from high school.
Burt's hand landed on his shoulder as they moved towards the front door of the house. “Don't sweat it, kid,” he sighed, a rueful smile on his face. “No one gets it first try. We'll just schedule some lessons over the summer.”
“Yeah, okay.” Kurt let a tiny smile creep across his own face. “That sounds good.”
“And I'm sorry about the A/C goin' out like that.” Now Burt was sheepish. “I'll have Jim take a look at it.”
“It's fine. I'm just glad to have a car at all, Dad. Really. Thank you again. I love it. I love you.” He reached over and hugged his father as they entered the house. “Listen, I'm going to shower and then I want to take your car down to the shop for a couple of hours to work on the books, okay?”
“Kurt, come on, no,” Burt protested. “Take the day off. You graduated! Go take a nap, watch a movie, do something fun. Maybe go to that party the Hudson kid was talking about.”
Kurt shook his head. “Really, Dad, I don't want to. It's fine. I swear it is.” He disappeared upstairs with a smile, leaving Burt to throw himself down on the sofa with a huff, wondering why it actually made him unhappy that his bright, good-looking son preferred accounting to partying.
...Chapter Two...