AN: I own nothing mentioned in this fic. There's talk of Dave's suicide attempt if that makes you squeamish you might wanna not read this one.
Dave sits in a pristine white office with the equally austere Doctor Roma. He sips his coffee and his stomach churns.
"Will you talk about it now David?" her voice is surprisingly soft and comforting.
"What do you want to know?" his voice is raspy. He thinks momentarily of the belt tightening around his wind pipe and that split second of "Oh shit this was stupid." Before the world went wobbly.
He starts talking without thinking. "I didn't expect the fear. The instantaneous regret. I thought it would just be…" he clears his throat and changes the subject when he spots a copy of Leaves of Grass.
"I've always liked Whitman."
"Why?"
"He's honest. The glimpse is about sitting down next to the one you love in noisy bar and watching the world go by. It's the kind of love where you don't need words. Just being together, breathing in the same space is enough. I wanted that, so bad."
"Wanted? What changed?"
"It all got to big. Too heavy my own mother thinks I have a diease. I caved, I was weak. I just wanted it to end."
"And now what do you think?"
"I know that I'm gay, that my mom is wrong, that I have friends and that if I can live through the bad days I'll get to the good. That's more than I had when I stepped off the chair. So that's good right?"
"Yes it is."
After his therapy session he makes a split second decision while sitting in his truck in the parking lot. He dials Kurt's number.
"Hey Kurt its Dave. Yeah no, I'm totally fine I you want to go for lunch? Oh okay great!"
Kurt may not be his Walt Whitman poem but he'll take being his friend any day. He drives toward Breadstix with a smile on his face.