Your school had had a Crying Room for a few weeks now.

People acted like they didn't need it, but occasionally, you'd see boys and girls alike slip into the baby blue door with the pathetic, fat, wailing cartoon baby painted on it.

Because the truth was, the people were grateful for a private place to let it all out.

It was a small, closet-size room, with a soft white bench and a plush pink cushion on it, candles burning on a shelf, making the room smell like lavender and vanilla. A few books sat next to the candles, about poetry and limericks to calm the minds of the hysterical. There were also tissues, and makeup wipes for cried-off makeup.

One day, you were walking past the Crying Room when a young man walked out, wiping his splotchy face and puffy eyes.

It was Felix, a boy known at your school for being a big fat crybaby. His hair was long and blonde, done in tight, bouncy curls, and he wore a pale pink sweater vest and a white pleated skirt, a pink bow tied around his neck.

The boy held a pale pink pacifier in his slender, milky hand, his nails perfect and almond shaped, not a callous or hangnail in sight.

Tears clung to his long eyelashes as he looked up at you, eyes bleary.

He cried pretty...

"O-oh..." Felix murmurs softly.