Stream Shots

Blind (Cruss)

Ryan "Cry" Terry was a mysterious figure. Well, to everyone but himself.

If you were to delve into his consciousness-his ears, his eyes, his thoughts, you'd realize that Cry simply identified himself under far more categories than his peers. A nerd, a gamer, a weeb, an emo, a class clown. He chose whichever persona he saw fit, and that way of thinking suited him.

As for his eyes and ears, you'd hear many things.

And you'd see nothing.

Cry was blind. It was the only rumor swirling around him that was true. Of course, the other rumors were a bit more morbid, as the most popular was that behind the crude mask he always wore was a horribly mutilated face, coated with stitches and scars. Cry kind of liked the idea-it made him seem cooler, which in a school like his meant that he wouldn't have any preps looking down at him, which he far preferred the flirty, plastic preps to.

If someone came up and asked a random student their opinion of Cry, they would've said something positive-or at least they would've said that he was the only popular kid that they didn't want to stab repeatedly. That was his reputation, and he was okay with that.

Cry had his group, though. His real friends. Snake, Jund, Cheyenne , and someone as valuable to Cry as all the rest of them combined.

His name was Russ.

Cry could not remember a troubling time where Russ did not comfort him-usually in the form of video games. In fact, he could not remember a time without Russ.

One more thing Cry categorized himself under: the guy that everyone thought was straight who was actually pansexual.

Of course, Russ didn't need him. Russ didn't seem to need anybody, and Cry couldn't see why Russ got near him at all. Maybe he should've been paranoid, but he could only be grateful for the presence of someone who expected nothing from him.

One day, Cry couldn't stand it-he thought that he might lose more than his eyesight mulling over Russ. He pulled Russ into a hallway that was packed-better than any silent space to shoo away eavesdroppers. The crowd sort of parted for the king of the school, and for once Cry was very thankful for the mask that hid the movement of his lips.

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why us? Why me?"

Russ did not answer immediately, and Cry followed the sound of his footsteps, hope forming a lump in his throat. When the footsteps stopped, Cry waited.

"The eyes are the windows to the soul, and your mask is like the blinds. No matter how tightly it's weaved, a light will always shine." Cry heard footfalls getting quieter and quieter, but this time he did not follow.

Something had changed between them in the last ten seconds, and Cry barely wanted to know what.