"Anxiety."
Blaine looked up at Kurt from where he was laid on the park bench, his leather jacket doubling up as a pillow under his head. The other boy was perched on the part of the bench where someones head should be resting, his feet somehow puzzle-pieced between Blaines legs on the seat. He was reading his phone screen fervently in one hand and eating the take-out tacos theyd picked up with the other.
"What the hell are you looking at?" Blaine responded, popping the rest of his taco into his mouth and chewing.
"Google. Being tearful is a common symptom of mental illness, and uncontrollable outbursts of crying is part of anxiety," he paraphrased, looking up from his phone at Blaine and taking another bite. "Soun like ou."
"Fucking swallow before you speak," Blaine chastised, cringing, but Kurt just gave him a wink. "And Im not crazy."
Kurt actually did manage to swallow before speaking again. "I dont think thats very PC of you," he pointed out.
"But Im not."
"Youre acting like being gay wasnt a mental health issue fifty years ago." Kurt stuffed the last bite of the taco into his mouth and balled up the wrapper with one hand, chucking it at the nearest bin. It bounced on the rim and landed inside.
"I dont care. I dont have a mental disorder," Blaine insisted again, toeing the armrest of the bench. "Drop it."
"You should still get screened for it."
"Kurt."
"Ooh, an online questionnaire-"
"Kurt, shut the fuck up," Blaine said loudly, looking up at the boy with exasperation. He raised his brows in shock. "Why are you looking at me like that? And why are you Googling this shit?"
He could see Kurt trying not to roll his eyes. "Oh, god forbid I help you, right? For fucks sake Blaine, swallow your fucking pride for once."
Dont you think Ive already done that today? Once again, Blaines tongue didnt want to work with him. Something instinctual was telling him his words were too risky for the air around him. "Its not pride," Blaine muttered, shaking his head and looking away.
"Yeah fucking right," Kurt scoffed, kicking Blaines shin. "Get your priorities together, B," Kurt snapped at Blaines affronted expression. "Who fucking cares if this is an issue? You dont have to announce it to the whole world. Just acknowledge it and itll help deal with it." The boy chucked his phone down into Blaines lap and swung off the bench in a single motion. "Answer the questions on there. Im getting fries."
Blaine opened his mouth to reply, but Kurt was already off. He let out a frustrated breath and snatched up the phone, half-passive aggressive about it. On the webpage, there was a list of tick-boxes, never all the way to always, next to statements.
I feel worried about many different things. Blaine huffed out a breath. "Duh, I go to fucking high school," he muttered. Always.
I have trouble sleeping or staying asleep. Blaine would have laughed if it wasnt so sad. Always.
I feel restless. Always.
I find it hard to concentrate. Often.
Im scared that bad things are going to happen. Often.
I feel worthless. Always. Blaines smile was slipping off his face. All these thoughts circulating in his head werent meant to be seen. They werent meant to be tangible, quantifiable, imaginable.
I think about death. Never. Sometimes. Never. Blaine couldnt seem to make his thumb settle.
I get along well with people my age. Sometimes.
Im comfortable when I have to go places without my parents. Always. When are they ever there, anyway?
My heart races when Im worried. I get hot or cold flushes. I get shaky. I get short of breath.
Blaine swallowed when the questionnaire was finished. Behind him, he could hear Kurts boots against the walk way, could just about imagine him shovelling fries into his mouth past his brain whirring and slowing at the same time. He didnt turn away from the phone screen until Kurt snatched it from his hands.
"92 out of 100, huh? You really are neurotic."
"Youre not funny, Kurt."
"Yeah," Kurt agreed, lifting Blaines legs to sit on the bench properly, then placing them in his lap. "Neithers whatevers going on upstairs with you. Get some therapy."

"Oh, yeah, Ill just go do that, right? Let me grab some fucking money that I dont have and get going," Blaine muttered. His eyes were cast down at his feet. Questionnaires arent always accurate, he told himself. It doesnt know anything about me.
"See Pillsbury, then. Shell give you a leaflet." Kurt cleared his throat, pitching his voice higher, more nasal. "Well, Im Fucked: 101 On Mental Health; I Cant Stop Crying: Help?"
Blaine pulled his legs off his lap. "Im glad this is funny to you," he muttered, getting up and snatching his jacket. Irritation, as per usual, was pricking under his scalp. Kurt was being the annoying kid on the bus pressing the stop button over and over: ding, ding, ding, like a fucking alarm.
"Im just fucking with you, B," came Kurts voice behind him. Ding, ding, ding-
Blaine tugged his jacket on. "I dont need your shit right now! Fuck off, Kurt!" he snapped, glancing back before beginning to storm off. He shook Kurts expression from his mind. He doesnt care. Nobody cares. Who would? was his first thought. Then: Theres nothing to care about. Then: Why are you starting to shake, then? They shot like a pinball against his skull. The bell kept ringing in his head all the way to the bus stop.