[fic] perfect
Like any good parents, Kris and Adam are enamored of their daughter.
Every first gets documented- her first tooth has its own photo album, her first attempts at steps are spread out over hours of video footage, her first party dress is (at Adam’s insistence) framed and hanging in their bedroom next to her yearly portraits.
If they could run a video loop through the house of the first time she had babbled “dadadadada,” they would.
Her grandparents insist that she is perfect, and Kris and Adam are quick to agree. Even in her occasional temper tantrums, she’s adorable, her face scrunching up and turning the sweetest shade of pink.
Therefore, the revelation that their daughter- their amazing, wonderful, infallible daughter- has a very ironic flaw was jaw-dropping.
“She’s tone-deaf,” Adam announces one day, a small smirk on his face as he checks to see that Olivia had run into her room to change out of her school clothes before speaking.
Kris kisses him hello.
“You discovered this between her school and here?”
“We stopped and got her new shoes,” he waves a hand dismissively, and Kris rolls his eyes, because really, how many shoes does one little girl need, but Adam keeps going, “but that’s not the point. Olivia can’t hit a note to save her life.”
“I don’t believe you,” Kris scoffs out a laugh, “I’ve heard her sing before and she sounds fine.”
“Not real singing, you haven’t. And anyway, love is deaf.”
“What do you mean, real singing?”
“I mean you’ve heard her sing those cutesy songs before- ‘The Itsy Bitsy Spider,’ ‘The Wheels on the Bus’- those kiddie songs that would sound great if you screamed them. You’ve never heard her sing a real song.”
Kris stares openly at his husband for a second, thinking of the countless hours that he and Olivia have spent in the car together listening to the Beatles. Now that he thinks of it, she’s never sung along- just bobbed her head and hummed in that cute, tuneless, distracted way that she had.
“What did she sing, then?”
Adam flinches momentarily, and Kris is sure he’s not going to like what he’s about to be told.
“Adam?” he prompts, and Adam shuts his eyes.
“She was singing Britney.”
“…Which song?”
A deep breath, and then Adam spits out,
“If You Seek Amy.”
“Adam!”
“Ok, I know, I get it, I’m sorry, but can we just get back to you being mad at me over this later? I know it’s inappropriate but she likes it and… baby, can we just get back to the fact that our daughter can’t hold a note in a bucket?”
Kris files away his exasperation to some recess in the back of his mind, and folds his arms over his chest.
“So, how did you figure this out?”
“I had the radio on and the song came on and she started singing along and I turned it down so I could hear her and it was just wrong. I thought maybe it was just the song, but then she sang me that new John Mayer shit you’re always playing and it was just notes thrown into the sky at random. Our baby is tone deaf.”
Kris is torn between laughing hysterically and being pissed off that Adam taught their four-year-old to sing about sex. He looks up and meets Adam’s eyes and decides that, yup, this is too bizarre of a laugh to pass up, so he breaks down, clutching at his stomach.
Adam’s eyes dance with mirth as he watches Kris lose control, and he reaches a hand out to pull him to his chest. He drops a kiss into Kris’s hair and murmurs,
“What are the fucking odds?” and Kris loses it even further then, because really, with her parents being two of the biggest recording artists out there, it really is perfectly ironic.
“Dada!” they hear the call from behind them, and they both look up on cue.
“Yes, princess?” Adam asks, Kris buried in his chest with a smile spread wide across his face.
“Can I sing for Daddy now?”
“I think he would love that.”
Kris turns in Adam’s arms, leaning back against his chest as Adam wraps around him.
They watch their daughter clear her throat and attempt to imitate the vocal warm-ups she’s seen rehearsed around the house before she takes a deep breath and shouts, off-key and deliciously wonderful,
“So hot, out the box, can we pick up the pace?” and Adam’s whispering in his ear,
“Oh yeah, she knows the words to FYE too… at least it’s one of ours.”
Kris is swatting at him, then, having given up on anger as he smiles at the child, who is dancing in the shameless little girl way that he admires so much.
She hasn’t hit a note yet, but Kris doesn’t mind. From Adam’s smile against his cheek, he would venture a guess that he doesn’t either.
.
Every first gets documented- her first tooth has its own photo album, her first attempts at steps are spread out over hours of video footage, her first party dress is (at Adam’s insistence) framed and hanging in their bedroom next to her yearly portraits.
If they could run a video loop through the house of the first time she had babbled “dadadadada,” they would.
Her grandparents insist that she is perfect, and Kris and Adam are quick to agree. Even in her occasional temper tantrums, she’s adorable, her face scrunching up and turning the sweetest shade of pink.
Therefore, the revelation that their daughter- their amazing, wonderful, infallible daughter- has a very ironic flaw was jaw-dropping.
“She’s tone-deaf,” Adam announces one day, a small smirk on his face as he checks to see that Olivia had run into her room to change out of her school clothes before speaking.
Kris kisses him hello.
“You discovered this between her school and here?”
“We stopped and got her new shoes,” he waves a hand dismissively, and Kris rolls his eyes, because really, how many shoes does one little girl need, but Adam keeps going, “but that’s not the point. Olivia can’t hit a note to save her life.”
“I don’t believe you,” Kris scoffs out a laugh, “I’ve heard her sing before and she sounds fine.”
“Not real singing, you haven’t. And anyway, love is deaf.”
“What do you mean, real singing?”
“I mean you’ve heard her sing those cutesy songs before- ‘The Itsy Bitsy Spider,’ ‘The Wheels on the Bus’- those kiddie songs that would sound great if you screamed them. You’ve never heard her sing a real song.”
Kris stares openly at his husband for a second, thinking of the countless hours that he and Olivia have spent in the car together listening to the Beatles. Now that he thinks of it, she’s never sung along- just bobbed her head and hummed in that cute, tuneless, distracted way that she had.
“What did she sing, then?”
Adam flinches momentarily, and Kris is sure he’s not going to like what he’s about to be told.
“Adam?” he prompts, and Adam shuts his eyes.
“She was singing Britney.”
“…Which song?”
A deep breath, and then Adam spits out,
“If You Seek Amy.”
“Adam!”
“Ok, I know, I get it, I’m sorry, but can we just get back to you being mad at me over this later? I know it’s inappropriate but she likes it and… baby, can we just get back to the fact that our daughter can’t hold a note in a bucket?”
Kris files away his exasperation to some recess in the back of his mind, and folds his arms over his chest.
“So, how did you figure this out?”
“I had the radio on and the song came on and she started singing along and I turned it down so I could hear her and it was just wrong. I thought maybe it was just the song, but then she sang me that new John Mayer shit you’re always playing and it was just notes thrown into the sky at random. Our baby is tone deaf.”
Kris is torn between laughing hysterically and being pissed off that Adam taught their four-year-old to sing about sex. He looks up and meets Adam’s eyes and decides that, yup, this is too bizarre of a laugh to pass up, so he breaks down, clutching at his stomach.
Adam’s eyes dance with mirth as he watches Kris lose control, and he reaches a hand out to pull him to his chest. He drops a kiss into Kris’s hair and murmurs,
“What are the fucking odds?” and Kris loses it even further then, because really, with her parents being two of the biggest recording artists out there, it really is perfectly ironic.
“Dada!” they hear the call from behind them, and they both look up on cue.
“Yes, princess?” Adam asks, Kris buried in his chest with a smile spread wide across his face.
“Can I sing for Daddy now?”
“I think he would love that.”
Kris turns in Adam’s arms, leaning back against his chest as Adam wraps around him.
They watch their daughter clear her throat and attempt to imitate the vocal warm-ups she’s seen rehearsed around the house before she takes a deep breath and shouts, off-key and deliciously wonderful,
“So hot, out the box, can we pick up the pace?” and Adam’s whispering in his ear,
“Oh yeah, she knows the words to FYE too… at least it’s one of ours.”
Kris is swatting at him, then, having given up on anger as he smiles at the child, who is dancing in the shameless little girl way that he admires so much.
She hasn’t hit a note yet, but Kris doesn’t mind. From Adam’s smile against his cheek, he would venture a guess that he doesn’t either.
.