Blurryface meets Cry Baby

Glass

   Blurryface sat by his window at the bottom floor of the apartment building he lived in, looking out the window at people passing by, so full of joy, so full of life. Kids on their bikes, couples holding hands, even people walking alone seemed to have a cheerful gleam to their manner.
      
   He wondered what it would be like to have something in your life to hold onto, a motivation, a ray of sunshine of sorts. He often felt like midnight sky, hiding, unappreciated, unnoticed, just keeping a distance as he watched all the stars around him dancing. He wondered what in this world he had to do to feel like even the smallest star.
      
   A knock came at the door.
 
   "Blurry!" Cry Baby greeted as he opened his door.
      
   "Oh, hey there." He looked around at his small room. Dark, dirty, torn apart from fits of rage, panic attacks, and just not being tended to at all. He looked to Cry Baby, embarrassed. He stepped into the hallway and shut the door.
      
   "So, what's the plan?" He asked after a brief silence.
   
   "I know of this quaint coffee shop a few blocks away. Does that sound nice?"
  Blurryface nodded.
       
   "Great! Let's be on our way!"
  
   They went out the door without a word, but as soon as they started down the path, Cry Baby began a conversation.
      
   "So, what is it that you do, Blurry? Do you have a job? Any employment? Here for school? I'm studying at the local university. Hoping to get a degree in psychology if I can make it."
    
   "I, uh... I don't have a job right now. I just uh... high school. Couldn't afford it." He lied. The truth was, he was expelled from his high school, mid-sophomore year. He'd never told a soul, and wasn't looking to just yet.
      
   "Oh, how unfortunate." Cry Baby sympathized. "What about hobbies? Even if you don't do something for a living, is there something you like to do?"
      
   "I, um, write. A lot."
  
   "Oh, wonderful. What do you write about?"
     
   "Things that happen to me, I guess. The things around me too." This was not a lie.
 
   "I should love to see your writing sometime." Cry Baby said hopefully.
      
   "Yeah, maybe." Blurry said with a quick and forced smile. Although he still felt awkward and unbearably self-conscious, Cry Baby made him more comfortable than he had been in a long time. And she's studying psychology. Makes sense.
      
   They soon arrived at their destination, and sat down at a round table for two. Blurry ordered black coffee, or more like, he allowed Cry Baby to order it for him. She got a glass of lemonade.

   Sipping their drinks, Cry Baby took a deep breath and said, "I really do appreciate what you did the other day. Honestly, I'm not very used to people standing up for me. I've always felt that I'm one of a kind, and no one understands... but you seem to understand what it's like to be misunderstood."

   "Thanks." Was all Blurry managed to say.

   "You know, you should really give yourself more credit, Blurry. I haven't told you, but really, I mean... you're such an amazing person."

   This was the closest Blurry had ever been to laughing. "A good person?" And for the first time, he looked up and pierced his eyes straight through Cry Baby's. "You don't know what I've done."

   Just like that, Cry Baby stared down at the floor, looking shocked. It must have been the way he said those words. It was the first time he had ever said something like he meant it, like he knew it. He liked Cry Baby, and vowed he'd never try to scare her or hurt her, but if she was trying to befriend him, she needed to know what she was in for.

   "Blurry..." she nearly whispered, her voice trembling, "you are a good perso-"

   "I'm not a damn Saint!" He yelled. With the drastic raise of his voice, Cry Baby's eyes turned into rivers, lakes, oceans.

   "I never said you were." She said sternly, seemingly frustrated, "but I won't let my friend walk around thinking he's nothing! Blurry, I want to help you! I bet you have helped so many people and you don't even realize you do it! That's not good!"
      
   "I'M NOT A DAMN SAINT!" he yelled. He stood up and threw his glass cup on the floor. Cry Baby gasped and cried more.
       
   Blurry immediately regretted what he did. Everybody was staring. He was mortified.
      
   He shook his head at Cry Baby.

   "I don't help people."
     
   He turned and walked away.

   As we walked, he felt tears threatening to pour out of his eyes and down his cheeks. He refused to let them, but all that did was fog up his vision. Mister Misty-Eyed.
   
   He stumbled into his apartment, sinking his fingernails into his palms, swallowing his anger and the lump in his throat.
     
   He collapsed onto the chair in front of the papers documenting his life, and thought about the way he threw his glass onto the wooden floor. In a way, Blurry is just glass.

   He's fragile right away, and you know it. He breaks easily. And, just like glass, it would take a miracle to put him back together.