"I know your secret."

Dave blinks lazily up at Brittany. "Yeah? And what's that?"

The Cheerio tips her head to the side, her blonde hair swaying side to side. "You know. The G thing. Capital G-A-Y." She pauses. "That's like — how you spell gay right?"

All at once, Dave can feel his throat constricting with words. He swallows thickly. "Britt, that's not —"

"It's okay." Brittany blinks at him. "I have a secret, too."

"What's your secret?" Dave asks weakly.

Brittany frowns. "That's why they're secrets. Duh."

Dave can't tell if she's too stupid to hate him, or if she's good at hiding it.

It doesn't matter. He needs to keep her mouth shut.

"I brought nachos." Brittany holds up a bag from 7-11. "I hope you like cheddar. They're like, my favorite kind of nachos."

He ushers her into his house before anyone can see. "I need to talk to —"

"I get it." She turns around with a little smile. Somehow he doesn't believe her. "I totally get being in love with Kurt. His face is so soft. He's got baby hands. Sometimes I forget he's not a baby."

"I —" Dave shakes his head. He can feel a stinging behind his eyes, tears that refuse to make themselves known. He's desperate. He can't — no one can find out. "Britt, you have to promise me you won't tell anyone. Not even Santana."

"Can I tell Mrs. Fruggals?"

"Mrs. —"

"Fruggals." Brittany beams at him. "My cat."

Dave feels like he's telling a very tiny child to keep a very big secret. "Uh, yeah. You can — you can tell Mrs. Fruggals."

"It's okay. She already knows."

Brittany gets things.

She's totally aware that there are some things that shouldn't be said, some things that need to be kept quiet. She's a child, but she's not stupid.

Dave looks like he wants to cry in front of her. She pets his head and tells him he looks like a kitten, and he kind of smiles at her, kind of doesn't.

She sees right through him. She sees through everyone, but no one notices.

And anyway, there are some things that Brittany knows, and she knows — she gets it — that this is something she can't tell anyone.

"I'm not gay," he tries to tell her. "I'm really not — I'm just, confused."

Brittany suddenly reaches forward for his letterman jacket, giving him a kiss full on the mouth. He pulls back almost at once, and there's guilt written in his eyes.

"You're like… totally gay."

Dave tries to sleep with her. To prove a point or something.

He leaves kisses on her jaw and neck, down to her chest, before bile rises in his throat and he falls to the bed beside her, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes trace intricate patterns into the texture, spelling out words that he doesn't say.

Brittany doesn't say a word, but she curls into his side, clutching onto his shirt like a child with a blanket. "It's okay, you know. It's totally okay."

He hides his face with his hands. "No, it's not."

Brittany pushes her face into his shirt. "I love gay people," she says helpfully.

"Yeah?" Dave looks at her for once, really looks at her, and he sees something he's never seen before. Suddenly he can't stop looking.