Kurt Hummel ★ GLEE

These are probably more mckinleyrewind verse in my head than anything else.




( More fabulousness under here )

Somewhere around the age of nine, Kurt discovered that his Dad's workshop had really awesome acoustics. Way better than the bathroom at home, even. Only, the first time he tried to belt out Aretha to the radio whilst tapdancing on top of the dinner table, Burt Hummel nearly had a heart attack and quickly set Kurt on donut duty so he wouldn't have to think too much on the scene he had just witnessed. Now, he liked Motown in small doses, but couldn't the kid start out with a bit of Marvyn Gaye or Stevie Wonder? Still, who could argue with acoustics? At least, that's what Kurt's argument was, and Burt just agreed in bewilderment and went back to warped wheel rim he had been working on.

Now, nearly eight years later, Kurt was cranking up the radio as loud as he could without landing the police on the doorstep for disturbing the peace. I Will Survive, by the fabulous Ms Gloria Gaynor. No way could Kurt just stand at the bench and pretend washing tools was his priority when one of his all time favourite songs was starting to filter through the radio. His Dad was on a lunch break, picking up lunch, and being a Saturday, there were no other workers around. With a covert glance around, the volume was flicked up and Kurt was singing his heart out into a wrench, indulging in how awesome the high notes sounded as they bounced off the cement walls of the workshop. He was just reaching the bridge, imagining himself dressed in sequinned spandex up on a stage in front of a million people when...

"Kurt?"

Kurt stopped abruptly and immediately dropped the wrench on his foot with a squeak of surprise. "Dad-- ow!" Wide-eyed, he stooped to pick up the wrench, fighting the temptation to start hopping around inelegantly to rub his throbbing toe. "I was just... the grease was a little tough to get off," he explained hastily, holding the tool up in his latex-gloved hand.

Burt scratched at his chin with a nod of understanding. "It does that." He gestured with his hand for a moment. "Love the electrics, son," he added after a moment, talking over the loudness of the music, and then disappeared again into the workshop's kitchenette with the lunch bags.

A smile played on Kurt's lips as he hugged the wrench to his chest. "Acoustics, Dad," he replied in amusement and then went back to the sink... even if the volume on the radio remained up.


Word Count | 423