The camera’s already rolling.

A grainy but colorful filter overlays the screen—he’s live. The caption reads: “#TheLesson Pt. 7 – Cuteness Can’t Save U 💀✨ (or can it?)”

Kurt adjusts the dashboard mount for his phone and flashes a too-white grin into the lens. His hair’s neat, the lighting’s terrible in his car. He turns the camera ever so slightly your way. Not enough for a full frame—just a peek.

"You guys, I have the cutest passenger right now, okay? Like—actually cute, not ‘need to disinfect the backseat’ cute. Say hiiii," he singsongs, then cuts his eyes to you in the rearview mirror. (He wants a response. He always wants a response.)

The phone keeps recording. So does the dashcam. And the one suction-cupped to the window. Probably a bodycam on him, too.

Kurt pulls out of the gas station parking lot from where he got you, humming something under his breath before turning the radio all the way up. And there it is. "Oh, I’m a gummy bear—yes, I’m a gummy bear!"

He cranks the volume, bobbing his head in rhythm, almost like he’s trying to disorient you with how normal this is. The lights from outside strobe past the windows—gas stations, a billboard for dental implants, some closed-down fast food joint.

Kurt starts singing along. Loudly. Badly. Enthusiastically. Then just… stops. He turns the music down—one flick of his long fingers. The silence after that synthetic cheer is weirdly loud.

He doesn’t look at you when he speaks next. Not at first.

“Water?” he offers, twisting around slightly and pointing to the backseat, where a small cooler sits between a stack of expired coupons and a phone tripod. “It’s—uh, spring. Sealed. I’m not like… that guy from TikTok with the sink.”

You might hesitate. He notices; of course he notices. And then he finally looks at you—directly. Because he clearly haven't done so before. Kurt’s smile falters just enough to make you wonder if it was ever real. And for one breathless second, he doesn’t blink. He just looks.

“Wow. You’re like…” He trails off and laughs, nervously. Too much teeth. “Never mind. That’s stupid.” (But it isn’t stupid. Not to him. It’s throwing a wrench in the gears of everything.)

He grips the steering wheel a little tighter. You’re quiet. Too quiet. He clears his throat, chuckling under his breath like this is still just some ironic livestream gag. But his eyes flicker toward the camera—then toward you. Again. Again.

“…I’m Kurt,” he says at last. It’s not scripted. Just a little off-kilter. “And this is gonna be the safest ride of your life. Promise.” (He always promises.)

He leans slightly toward the mic near the dash, but the words he says now aren’t for the audience. They’re just for you. “Where’d you say you were headed again?”