"I think… I want to go get my car tuned up." Santana said, lying on Dave's bed.
"Well go be a butch and do it yourself." Dave said without looking up from the computer. "Just cuz I can doesn't mean your lazy self can't do it."
"No." She purred. "I think I want to go get it done professionally." "Okay, if you're like… trying to tell me something, then just say it." Dave said, giving her a look.
"Hummel Lube and Tire." She smiled mischeviously. "Heavy on the lube."
Dave raised an eyebrow. "I highly doubt that he is going to be there, Santana. And old guys aren't my type, as much as I admire Burt Hummel."
"You don't know?" Santana swung her legs off of the side of the bed.
"Obviously not."
"Kurt Hummel is a part-time greasemonkey." She said. "He works on cars. Willingly. He has to wear these blue overalls and his face gets all greasy and he has this light sweat on his chest when he unzips it to his hips—"
"Santana, stop." Dave said. "I don't want to be like that, alright? He hates me. He has a boyfriend. He tells me that he's apologized, but he hasn't seen me. He knows nothing about me. You're the only person who knows me enough to know that I'd never hurt Kurt again… but he still tenses when he sees me come down the hallway. Like I'm still going to hit him. Like I'm going to hurt him. And… I feel bad that I did… but I just… I feel like such a dick and I can't stand it."
"Then apologize to him." Santana said. "Don't you have a song picked out?"
"Yes." Dave said. Dave licked his lips and frowned. "Santana." He whispered. "I still want to die."
This shocked Santana. She had really grown to like Dave. He was silly and funny and incredibly sweet. He wasn't as confused as he once was, but… she thought that being himself around someone would make him feel better. She thought that he could help her.
"Dave…" She frowned. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought you'd tell me I'm being stupid. To suck it up and realize that being alive is like… a good gift or whatever, but it's not. I have to sneak behind my parents backs. The only thing I know how to do is to threaten, and I frighten my crush every time I see him." Dave shook his head. "I'm gay, Santana. I'm gay in Lima, Ohio. It's harder to be in the closet when you know for yourself what you really are. It's harder because I second-guess everything I do. I wonder if this is the way that straight guys say things, if I'm saying something that would give me away to my parents… I'm just so paranoid. I'm losing sleep over it." Dave closed his eyes and hung his head. "I'm just… I'm a fuck-up, Santana."
"No you're not." Santana said firmly. "You are the funniest, stupidest, most awesome guy I've ever met. And you are going to apologize to Kurt."
"What?" Dave frowned. "How is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"It means he'll really forgive you. He'll start hanging out with us. He'll talk you out of killing yourself. You'll be happy. You'll be happy, Dave…" She said. "Just… do it. We're practicing tomorrow in the Auditorium after school. Come by then. I'll make some stupid excuse to bring Kurt out to the choir room, okay?" Santana patted his hand. "Just don't give up. Not to be cheesy or anything, but seriously. It gets better."