Blaine Anderson had an obsession with little kids cartoons. It could, and probably would, be considered unhealthy by professionals, something having to do with a repressed childhood trauma or maybe even a tendency toward pedophilia. But to tell the truth his fascination had more to do with the feeling of comfort found in such shows than anything any pseudo new age psycho babble excuse a shrink would come up with.

Nevertheless, when his mother caught him watching Charlie and Lola at three in the morning for the ninth straight time, that’s exactly where she sent him. To a freaking shrink.

“I’m done with this Blaine.” She had sighed wearily, as if her eighteen-year old son watching a show designed for a three year old was a burden weighing her life down. “I’m setting up an appointment for you with Marci’s doctor first thing in the morning. Now shut that off. Please.”

Her voice rang in his ears as he sat in the deserted waiting room early the next morning. He shifted in the chair uncomfortably.

““““
Kurt Hummel had an obsession with shows about murder. Outside of his home, the only place he could watch them, he was an exceptional psychologist, and he felt sure this was something he would have found concerning in a patient, but he didn’t like to think about that. In truth he really had no idea what so appealed to him about the shows. They more often than not were just thirty cheap, over sensationalized minutes of fear tactics, tiny drama wrapped in a package which was blatantly engineered to play or prey on the natural human fear of death. As a psychologist, they should have sickened him.

But he couldn’t stop. He tuned in every night, and had several seasons of various shows on DVD. After a long day of helping other people deal with their mental traumas, caused by the very real evils of this world, of confronting those evils with them head on, of having to act fearless in the face of them, he enjoyed nothing more than to sit down on his couch with his dinner and his step brother's dog and have scenes of very fake evil's play across his television screen.

He didn’t have a significant other, and he probably never would. He had good friends and a great family, and that was enough. Because he didn’t want kids, and definitely never would, not with the intimate knowledge he had of the world’s evil's.

There was no mental problem Kurt Hummel couldn’t fix. He had an unusually reputable reputation as one of the most noted and respected psychologists of his time, even at only 26. There was no one whose mental trauma’s he couldn’t heal.

Except his own.

''''''''''
About twenty minutes after Blaine signed in, the pretty blonde receptionist poked her head out from behind her computer and smiled at him.

“Mr. Anderson? The doctor will see you now.” She said with a giggle.

“Thank you ma’am.” He muttered, ever the polite young man even as he walked to face what he was sure was going to be a Massive Waste of Time.

As he made to pass her however, she stuck her hand out and waved it in his face. “Hold on!” She waited until he made eye contact, and then said, “I like your hair. Can I touch it?”

He stared at her for a moment, surprised, but as she did not seem to be kidding he slowly nodded his consent. Making a small sound of satisfaction, she stood up and, cautiously as if she suspected it was going to bite her, poked at the stiff strands on top of his head.

After a few moments of this he gave her an awkward crooked smile and she removed her hand, happily returning to her desk where she proceeded to type something rather furiously. Shaking his head in bemusement, Blaine hastened down the small hallway to the door with his doctor’s name on it.

His hurried steps were cut short when he caught sight of the room’s sole occupant.

At first, he wasn’t sure he was in the right place.

The man sitting behind the doctor’s desk, in the doctor’s chair, was not what he had been expecting the doctor to be. For one thing, he looked to be about Blaine’s own age, maybe right around eighteen or nineteen at the most. He was immensely attractive, with soft looking, perfectly coifed brown hair, high cheekbones, kind yet astute and absolutely gorgeous glasz eyes partially hidden behind thick black frames. When he stood Blaine instinctually knew he would see that the fitted pants and polo shirt he was wearing hugged carefully sculpted abs, arms and ass with effortless grace.

The man sat with his chin in one hand, his other hand on the chair, elbow akimbo. He looked to be evaluating Blaine, seeming to take in every detail as the young man slowly approached him. Finally he gestured for him to sit on the couch directly across from the desk. As Blaine complied, a slight smile light the pensive face.

“Good morning Mr. Anderson.” The man said as he stuck a smooth hand out for Blaine’s calloused one to shake. His voice seemed to promise things. “I’m Dr. Hummel, Kurt Hummel. I’m your new psychologist."