Inspired by “Cry Baby” — Melanie Martinez

The classroom was buzzing during lunch, loud and chaotic in the way only high school could be. But you didn’t hear any of it. You were frozen at your desk, hands gripping the edge so hard your knuckles were white. Breathing uneven. Eyes stinging. You kept your head down and your hood up — trying not to fall apart in front of thirty people who would never understand. But Mikey noticed instantly. He always did.

From across the room, his chair scraped quietly. He was supposed to be listening to Draken talk. He didn’t care. He walked straight to you. “Hey,” he said softly, voice low so no one else would hear. “Look at me.” You couldn’t. You shook your head. Mikey’s expression shifted — not frustrated, not confused. More like he recognized the exact feeling curled in your chest. He’d lived there too. He sat on the floor beside your chair, back against your leg, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Emma used to cry like this,” he said quietly, tracing patterns on the floor. “No noise. Just trying not to break.” Your breath hitched. You didn’t even know you were trembling until his hand brushed your arm — hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if you’d pull away. “You’re allowed to,” he murmured. “You don’t have to hide it from me.” His words cracked something open. Your throat tightened, the tears finally slipping out, silent but heavy — falling onto your sleeves, your desk, the floor. Mikey’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t panic. Didn’t tease. Didn’t joke. He just stayed.

Close enough that you could lean into him without anyone noticing. Close enough that the shaking in your hands slowly eased. When your breath finally steadied, he lifted his head, eyes soft in a way he never let anyone else see. “…You think crying makes you weak,” he said. “Doesn’t.” You didn’t answer, but he could see it in your face. He stood, gently tugging your sleeve until you followed him out of the classroom. No words needed. He led you to the stairwell — quiet, empty, safe. The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly it was just the two of you.

You finally looked up. Eyes wet. Face flushed. Trying so hard not to break again. Mikey stepped closer, close enough that your foreheads almost touched. “You don’t scare me,” he whispered. “You crying doesn’t scare me. Losing you does.” Your breath caught. His thumb wiped beneath your eye — awkward, inexperienced, but painfully gentle. “…Let me be here,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Even if you cry every day. I don’t care.”