"So," she settles herself down into her seat, one legged crossed over the other, pen poised over he yellow legal pad, "tell me about yourself, Blaine."
The light in the room is a dim yellow, meant to be calming he's sure, but it feels too homey for some place that doesn't feel at all like home. It's unnerving how inviting she is. Blaine feels like there are bugs crawling up his back, making him shiver. He doesn't do this; he doesn't know how to do this.
"I-uh-ehem," he straightens himself out, pulling at the bottom of his t-shirt. His eyes focus on a little moth hole right above the seam. "My name is Blaine Devon Anderson, I'm almost 22 years old, I'm gay, my boyfriend's name is Kurt, and I have a 3, almost 4-year-old son named Declan who is my entire life." He starts picking at the hole, sticking his finger through it, watching it as it gets bigger. "And I have been previously diagnosed with depression."
She nods absentmindedly, pen scratching over her pad, "and when were you diagnosed?"
"I was attacked at a school dance my freshman year of high school, I had to see a therapist before I could be released from the hospital."
"And what course of action did you take? More therapy? Medication? Both?"
Guilt drops heavily into his stomach. His arms wrap protectively around his stomach. Shannon glances at him, he eyes sweeping over his arms, the way he's clutching himself, like it's the only thing keeping him together. She drops her eyes again, scribbling more notes down.
"I didn't do anything."
Her hand stalls over the paper. She looks back up at him, brow furrowed. She uncrosses her legs, leaning forward slightly in her chair, "and why are you seeking treatment now?"
"My son's mother is fighting me for custody, she's trying to use my depression against me in court. If I'm being honest she brought up some pretty good points. I wanna be able to be there for my son all the time, I don't want my personal problems to affect him in anyway."
She gives him a sad smile, "it takes a lot of courage to start therapy, but it has to be done for the right reasons Blaine," she uncrosses her legs and leans forward, making him look into her eyes. They're serious, but also warm. "You have to be doing this for you," she explains, "and if you can do this for just you, then the rest will follow. You'll be better for Declan, and your boyfriend. And most importantly, you will be better for you."
…
"You actually took your lunch break today?" Blaine jumps at the sound of Kurt's voice, coming from underneath the same Chevy that he had been working on when Blaine had snuck past him earlier, after he'd asked Burt if he could watch Declan through his lunch break. Usually Blaine stayed at the shop and had his lunch with his son, it gave Blaine some much needed time for snuggles, and gave Burt a nice break from having to chase around a three-year-old. But today had been the only time Shannon was free for an appointment. Blaine hadn't mentioned it to Kurt. He didn't plan on not telling him, it had just felt too weird to bring up. Now it was going to be even weirder.
"Uh-yeah. I had an appointment."
Kurt rolls out from under the car; his face covered with grease, but his hair's still completely intact. Blaine has no idea how he manages that.
"A doctor's appointment?" Kurt questions, as Blaine extends his hand to lift Kurt up from the creeper.
"Therapy," he corrects. He drops Kurt's hand, going over to his locker, he grabs his coveralls and starts slipping them on.
"Therapy?" Kurt repeats with a half smile.
"Yeah, therapy," Blaine mumbles the reply, his fingers trying to work through the catch in his zipper.
"Blaine that's-"
He looks up from his stuck zipper, "not here," his eyes nervously darting around them. The guys are all there, being their usual noisy selves, laughing and yelling for tools. They're great, all of them had been so accepting of Blaine so far, but it's still too much. Blaine's not ready to get this personal with any of them. He's barely ready to get this personal with Kurt, but they've been quasi dating (quasi only because they've barely spent anytime together without a 3-year-old present, their relationship has mainly consisted of group babysitting) for over 2 months now. Kurt's already followed him into battle, now is not the time to keep critical information from him. It could only end badly, for both of them.
Kurt nods, presses a quick kiss to Blaine's cheek before grabbing a ratchet and sliding back under the Chevy. Blaine abandons his zipper, and instead turns towards Burt's office.
"Daddy!" He gets an armful of 3-year-old as soon as he's through the door.
"Hey buddy, I missed you at lunch today, what did you and Burt have?"
"Ham sandwiches!"
"A ham sandwich? Your favorite! Did you have pickles on it?" Blaine lowers the two of them down into the seat across from Burt, as the other man continues to type away at his desktop. Declan nestles himself into Blaine's lap, his pudgy, most likely sticky, hands playing with the zipper of his coveralls, which is still stuck halfway down his chest.
"Yeah! Of course it had pickles on it!"
"Well of course," he nods seriously, punctuating his reply.
Blaine stares down at his son, completely oblivious to Burt who is staring at the pair of them in the same way, with such a pure glimmer of adoration in his eyes. Burt has grown quite fond of the Anderson boys over the last couple of months. Declan was stealing more of his heart each day, and Blaine… well Blaine was breaking more of his heart every day. Every little thing that Blaine revealed about himself only ensured the fact in Burt that this boy, this man, did not deserve anything that he'd been dealt over the years. His life was rough, but he did his best not to let it phase him, at least not on the outside. Especially when he was around his son.
But Burt knew what it did to a person, hiding their true emotions for the well being of others. He could hardly imagine what a mess it was inside that kid's brain.
"I hope he wasn't too much trouble at lunch time," Blaine says, Declan's cheek now resting on his chest as he idly strokes his back. Both of their eyes becoming heavy with sleep.
The older man smiled at the pair, leaning his elbows on the desk, "he was as good as ever."
"Good job, bud," Blaine whispers softly into his son's hair, placing a kiss on the top of his head. Declan snuggles himself closer in reply, his knees curled into his chest, and his arms wrapped around Blaine's middle.
"You're only here until 2 today right?" Burt asks.
"Yeah, why?"
Burt looks above Blaine's head at the clock that hangs over the door, "you're both exhausted, and it's already 1:15, why don't you take him home so you can both have a nice nap."
"Burt-"
"Really not up for negotiation, kid. Don't worry, I won't dock your pay."
"You've already done too much for me today," Blaine tries to fight, but it doesn't sound too convincing with how tired he is.
"What? Getting to spend lunch with my favorite 3-year-old? He's an amazing kid, Blaine, and you did that. I think you forget some times that I was a single father too. I know how exhausting it is, and Kurt was 8 and didn't have nearly as much energy as this one. So, you're gonna go home and take a nap, and then when I get out of here I'm gonna come pick Declan up so that you and Kurt can discuss what had you looking so terrified out there."
"Burt-"
"Know when you need help, Blaine, it will make life a lot easier."
…
Blaine feels the nerves trickle back up his spine, knowing how much of himself he's going to share tonight. And he's not quite sure Kurt's going to like all that he has to reveal about himself.
They talk for a while and they talk about a lot of things. They lay on Kurt's bed, Blaine's anxiety mixed with the heavy down comforter under them making Blaine a little too warm, his cheeks colored pink. Kurt plays with his hair, which is free of gel for the first time since his first paycheck from the shop, as he tells Kurt about his history. About before Maggie, and even before Dalton. There are even mentions of middle school, and how even then he'd get in these "funks" as his parents called them. "Funks" he just couldn't seem to fight his way out of, no matter how hard he tried.
They talk. They talk about depression. They talk about Blaine's suicidal thoughts, and how once he'd even had the pills in his hand, ready to finally stop fighting for every breath he took. They talked about how Kurt had the same thoughts, but they were only fleeting, and it had less to do with being depressed and more to do with being beaten everyday.
They talk, and they talk until Blaine can't remember why he was so anxious to share these truths with Kurt. The boy he cares for so much. The boy he loves. He feels his eyes drooping. He shivers a little, curling into Kurt's side, Kurt's hand still in his hair. They fall asleep, on top of the covers. It's chilly in the room, but it just means that they can get that much closer.