"I want to talk about Kurt Hummel."

It's not like Dave ever expected him to – sure, his fantasies fog over his vision sometimes, but even when he's in the midst of a universe where Kurt speaks to him without swears and gritted teeth (where they smile at each other a lot, where Dave's anxiety amounts to sweaty palms from holding hands for far too long), he knows his reality (and it bears down so hard on him that if Dave stops moving for just a second, it'll collapse.) Kurt Hummel does not willingly converse with Dave Karofsky. This is reality. Yet, Dave's had four sessions with Dr. Costil and he's made a point to message Kurt immediately after.

Session one, all Dave had to say was, "This is fucking stupid." Session two followed a similar theme, "I'd slam my dick in a sliding glass door to get away from this sharing and caring crap." Session three he tried bargaining, "Dude, I'll pay for the repairs to your car. I swear. Tell Figgins we're cool, and call the whole thing off." By session four frustration set in, "Costil says I don't talk enough – that I just let things fester and burst. Bullshit, I talk my head off; it's just that no one really pays attention. I kinda feel like I'm screaming underwater sometimes; you ever feel like that? Like that 'wa-wa' sound all of the adults made in The Peanuts is coming out of your mouth or some shit? I dunno why I just told you that, or why I bothered sending this. Whatever."

Dave's not delusional (just a good liar), he knows all Kurt has to offer is an indifferent ear; there's no blame – it's understandable.

It still royally pisses him off, though.

Dave shifts uncomfortably in the chair, presses his lips together in a thin line. "Should I bring my yearbook next week? I mean, if you want to go down the line of losers in my class..."

Dr. Costil adjusts his glasses. "I don't think that's necessary."

"Hummel's not necessary, but you're bringing him up."

Dave wishes Kurt would just tell him to fuck off. That would be better than leaving him staring at a green "online" indicator light and suffocating under stony technological silence.

"I'd say he's pretty important, David. All of the trouble you've been in at school lately has involved him in some way," Costil says as he scribbles on his notepad.

"I was just doing my civic duty." Dave shrugs. "I'm at the top of McKinley's food chain; I'm supposed to waste everyone who doesn't measure up."

Costil continues to write. "Why doesn't Kurt measure up?"

"Maybe it's because he prays to Judy Garland." He snickers. "Or it could have something to do with the Priscilla Queen of the Desert medley he did for the freshman talent show. The dude's voice is a pitch only dogs can hear."

"So, Kurt Hummel is gay?"

"Hummel isn't flaming, he's an inferno."

"And it's your job to 'waste' him?"

"Yeah. That shit's not normal – some dude sashaying down the hall in a skirt, it's sick and confusing."

"He makes you feel confused?" Costil sets his pen down and looks Dave straight in the eye.

Sweat has started to bead across Dave's forehead. "That's not what I meant," he says, but the words come out fast and jumbled. "I – I can see how that could be confusing to other guys, you know? Like, if you were to turn around and from behind you saw what you thought was this chick walking like she owned the world. I mean, really confident and awesome, the kind of shit you have to stare at because it's paralyzing and makes you feel so small seeing someone radiate that much power. And then this amazing girl turns out to be a fucking dude in a fucking skirt. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is? I mean, I'm sure it's pretty embarrassing and I was just trying to look out for my boys. So, Hummel's gay – that's cool for him or whatever, but it's wrong to throw that shit in other people's faces. He fags it up because he wants attention, and I gave him what he deserved."

Dr. Costil is writing again, and Dave has the worst pain in his stomach.

"First: I wasn't going to respond. That's why it's been a week and I'm just typing this now…in the middle of Urban Outfitters btw, so you are totally screwing with my Cinci shopping utopia. Second: there are so many times that I've felt like I was screaming my lungs out and no one could hear that I've lost count. It's awful. Third: how did things go with Costil today?"

Dave flops down onto his bed, and awkwardly holds the phone up in the air as he swipes a finger across the touch keys.

"The taco supreme I'm about to swallow whole will be more enjoyable and useful to me than Costil."

It takes ten minutes, but he gets a reply: "Diarrhea is never enjoyable or useful, Karofsky."

He laughs at that and this feels nothing like the reality he's used to, but Dave's vision is completely without fog, so he's just going to go with it.