Chapter Text
Cosmo, lying limply on the bed, stared at the bare ceiling.
Empty coffee cups stained his nightstand. A crumpled apron lay half under the bed. Receipts, candy wrappers, and mismatched stockings formed uneven islands across the carpet, filling every nook with trash, junk, and clothes.
He needed to clean it.
His eyes followed a fly, buzzing above him. His eyes ached, the heavy weights of sleep wearing him down.
His clothes were all dirty—weren't they? They straggled across the floor in different clumps and piles.
There was still so much to do.
So, Cosmo stared at the ceiling.
The ceiling had a faint water stain in the shape of a cloud. He’d memorized its edges months ago. It hadn’t changed. Neither had he.
There was nothing more to do but rest, but no matter how much he forced his eyes to close, he couldnt quite sleep.
It felt as though he'd been like this for a while, repeating the same thoughts, doing the same things, over and over again. Wake up. Work. Smile. Clean. Fail. Sleep.
Repeat
He didn’t know why.
He still had to go to work.
Would anyone notice?
Notice if he hadn't shown up? Notice the scabs that spread further down his thigh?
He clutched the blanket to his chest, letting his shoulders slump forward.
...
Yeah. He really needed to clean his room.
There was too much to do. Every movement, every breath— it was too much.
The bed dipped beneath him as he shifted his weight. Even that felt like an effort.
Leaning on his elbow, he pushed up, pulling his body to drape off the bed. He sat upright, still and unmoving, contemplating the time that passed as he perched there.
He kicked himself off the bed, landing on shaky legs. A small hit of nausea settled in his stomach.
The regret was instantaneous.
He forced his legs straight, grabbing a trash bag off his shelf.
He dropped the bag, letting it flutter to the floor, and scooped the biggest pile of clothes he could find— cramming them into the trash bag.
He hauled himself back up, dragging the bag with him. He kicked a few loose clothes into another pile, then picked that up and fully stuffed the bag.
A small proud huff of air parted through his lips.
See? That wasn’t so hard. He threw the bag behind him, crossing his arms.
He looked around.
The room felt barely touched.
nothing changed.
It didn't matter.
Whatever.
He didn’t care.
It wasn’t a big deal. He repeated under his breath.
His eye twitched. Cosmo forced down the lump in his throat.
It. Was. Fine.
The bag tipped to the side, about to fall.
He grabbed it by the elastic handle, yanking it over his shoulder.
He needed something clean to wear either way.
The local 24/7 laundromat lay at the end of the block, not a far walk away.
His skin crawled with grime, and his hair was unkempt. The thought of leaving his apartment caused his heart to sink into his stomach. He peered over to the window, prying the blinds open with his fingers.
He stared at the wall.
Maybe the laundromat would be empty.
Maybe he should go some other day.
The bag of clothes sagged against its weight like it was judging him.
The sky was riddled with the night, but the streets were illuminated by the fluorescent streetlights. Few cars strolled through— even fewer people walked this late.
Besides him, who in their right mind would be going to the laundromat this late? He sighed, dragging the bag out to the hallway.
Fine.
Cosmo climbed down the stairs, the bag of crumpled, dirty clothes following in suit behind him.
The door flew open, and a small gust of wind slapped into him. The cool air wrapped around him, and the city lights flickered.
He walked alone down the streets, wanting nothing more than to shrink back into his hoodie as every person and car passed by him. He could feel their judgment bearing a hole in his back as he moved along.
Lights turned off in apartments and stores, but the laundromat stayed. He swung open the door, and a polite ring followed. He set the bag beside a washer and fished for loose change in his pockets.
He slid the quarters into the slot, and the door popped open. He dug into the dirty clothes, wrapping his arms around them before hauling them out and shoving them into the washer.
His hand froze halfway out the machine.
He checked his pockets.
\Once.
Twice.
His stomach dropped.
He forgot detergent.
He flicked through the rest of the money he had and eyed the vending machine stocked with single-use packets of detergent.
Nowhere near enough.
The door dinged.
Cosmo looked up automatically.
A tall man carried his laundry hamper in one arm and a large bottle of soap in the other. He wore a basic grey hoodie and black shorts. A long, pink and white striped scarf flowed behind him. The man paused, stopping to stare at Cosmo.
The fluorescent lights caught the pale plastic of a mask tucked loosely into his pocket.
Cosmo whipped his head away, shuddering away from his gaze. The man didn't stop until he saw Cosmo’s reaction. He hustled to the machine across the room.
Cosmo fidgeted with his hands before letting out a sigh. Cosmo reached out to tap the man's shoulder before pausing. He could just leave. Or come back tomorrow.
Or just ask..
“Hey man— uh,”
The words tangled in his throat.
“Do you mind if I borrow some of your detergent once you're done with it?” Cosmo tried to swallow any anxiety he had.
He froze at Cosmo’s touch. He slowly turned around, his shoulders sunk back down after seeing Cosmo.
“Oh, yeah. Sure!” He visibly swallowed and sheepishly brought his hands up, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.
“My name’s is, uh, Sprout,” he stammered, handing the detergent over to Cosmo.
Cosmo poured the detergent into the washer and hesitated.
“Thanks...” he said quietly.
A pause hung between them.
“My name’s Cosmo.” He whipped his head around, facing Sprout.
Sprout whispered it quietly.
“Cosmo.”
The air hung awkwardly between them.
Cosmo shut the washing machine’s door; a thunk filled the silent room. The washing machines hummed loudly in the otherwise quiet room.
Cosmo slumped into the hard waiting chair, the legs squeaking against the tile floor. He shifted around, trying to find a position that didn’t feel quite as awful. He grabbed a magazine to keep himself entertained and flipped to a page at random.
He propped up an arm and leaned on it, kicking his feet out and slouching forward. Every now and then, Cosmo would peer up from his magazine. And every now and then, he would find Sprout peering back at him.
Was it Curiosity? Disgust?
Hell, if he knew.
And everytime their eyes met, Sprout’s gaze snapped somewhere else and he would clumsily fidget with his fingers. His shoulders stiffened, and his back propped forward.
He should’ve waited at home.
This felt painfully long.
Cosmo licked the tip of his finger and flipped to the next page. The dry rustle rang through the room.
Sprout cleared his throat.
Cosmo sighed.
Sprout cracked a knuckle.
The washing machines rumbled and jostled, rocking back and forth until slowing down and eventually coming to a halt.
Cosmo stood up quickly, knocking the chair backwards. He jumped to his washing machine and hauled the cool, wet clothes, shoving them quickly into the bag.
He would worry about the consequences later.
Now he wanted to get out.
Sprout, however, took his time. Carefully plucking a black hoodie out and gently placing it in his respective hamper.
Cosmo wanted to get home. He wanted to sleep, do nothing, just sleep.
He had to clean his room.
He had to get ready for work.
He had to make enough to pay the bills.
It was all too much.
Grab the clothes.
Put them in the bag.
His breath hicced.
He didn't want to go home.
He didn't want to exist.
His vision blurred. Drops fell onto his hand.
Put the clothes into the damn bag, Cosmo.
He sniffed, wiping furiously with the back of his hand— praying for it all to stop.
He took a sharp breath in. The tears slowed.
Why’d he have to be so dramatic?
He whirled around, closing his eyes to the world around him. He forced a small smile at Sprout before dragging the bag across the floor and hurrying out into the empty street.
Sprout stood alone in the fluorescent laundromat. His body was rigid, his face still etched with concern. His arm still stood out close to his chest, a small wave that was meant for him.
Sprouts brows drew together, tilting slightly downwards. “Bye, Cosmo...”
But Cosmo was already gone.
__________________________________
He wanted to scream, but he knew no one would hear him.
The man pressing the cold gun to his forehead knew it too.
“I. Need. The. Money.” The man gritted through blackened teeth. Cosmo noticed the way his sickly, skinny body trembled and the reddening of his eyes.
Cosmo could guess the reason.
People didn’t pull guns unless they were desperate.
Things like this happened all the time in the city. Cosmo had never really experienced it firsthand, but people's stories were enough to scare him away from going out at night. He would rather stay at home.
He dropped the bag of wet clothes behind him and slowly put his hands up.
His eyes were still red from crying. Dried tear stains lingered on his cheeks.
He just wanted to go home.
He dug into his pockets, fishing out the coins and dropping them one by one into the man's twitching hand. The man paused, looking closely at the coins— as if they would multiply the more he stared.
He’d already spent his money at the laundromat.
“Where’s the rest of it?” The man spat out, jamming the gun deeper against his skin.
“I need the damn money. You hear me?” The man yelled hysterically. His red eyes widened, and his knuckles tightened onto the handle.
He didn't want to argue.
What purpose did he have?
Cosmo leaned forward slightly, pressing his forehead into the barrel.
“Make it quick,” he whispered to himself. The man was too far gone to listen anyway.
He rested his eyes, waiting patiently for everything to finally stop.
...
The man's nostrils flared; a vein bulged on the side of his head. The rise and fall of his chest quickened, and his eyebrows furrowed deeply into his skin. His grip around the trigger tightened.
A black tendril seeped from out of the ground. It latched onto the thief and threw him, slamming him against the wall. Blood dribbled from out his nose as he lay slumped forward. A masked figure leaped from behind the corner, scurrying across the pavement.
The masked figure wrapped his arms tightly around Cosmo’s chest.
Did they just... hug him?
He should've pushed away, stopped this stranger in his tracks— but he couldn’t help it.
Their arms were comforting, oddly enough. Cosmo sank into the weight of their arms, yet his arms stayed put beside his torso. Their security, their warmt.h
He spun around, grabbing the back of their hoodie and digging his fingers into the fabric.
“Are-” The man froze.
Cosmo grasp pulled into a wrap around their torso. He nestled his face into their chest.
Their hoodie was damp, but not overwhelmingly so. It smelled strongly of detergent.
Instead, he sank further into his arms, the last of his strength leaving him. His body went slack, leaning fully into the stranger’s hold. The steady warmth of the stranger’s body made his chest ache even more.
Heat crept up his face, settling in his cheeks and ears. His throat tightened painfully and he gave up. The tears came out slowly, his breath quickening as each minute passed, until there were only quiet sobs muffled in the fabric that filled the empty streets.
He paused and rubbed his eyes.
By all means, Cosmo wasn't a dumb person—gullible, sure, but dumb?
Everything about them.
It was familiar.
The way they carried themself, their stature, their voice.
He recognized it.
From that night.
The blood. The pressure.
Something in his chest twisted.
He knew this feeling.
He’d felt it before.
The piece of Cosmos' power that stirred inside his body.
It didn’t involve him, so he didn’t care.
Tried not to care.
This would be over soon, and soon he would go home.
And just like what happened that night, it was over.
It.
Never.
Happened.
He sniffled, slowly pulling away from him. Their arms loosened around him, yet their shoulders remained stiff and their spine held firm.
He wiped the last remnant of tears off his cheek. They both stood there, staring at each other. Cosmo could feel the blood rushing to his face, burning a fiery red.
“Do you mind if I-” Cosmo leaned to the side, pointing his finger towards the bag of clothes behind them.
They whipped their head around, grasping the bag and holding it out for Cosmo to grab. Cosmo reached out, wrapping his fingers around their hand.
Their body shot up, going fully rigid.
Cosmo paid them no mind.
They both paused; neither one of them uttered a word.
“Thank you,” Cosmo said softly.
The figure didn’t respond.
They hesitated—just for a second.
Then turned and ran.
As if they were never there.
Cosmo stilled. The man's body still lay slumped over.
Cosmo crouched down to their level.
He couldn't help but feel bad. No one but the man himself knew what life he had lived—what he’d gone through.
What drove him to the point of madness?
He yanked out a couple of remaining coins and tucked them into their hand. It was all he had left, but he didn't need it.
Not any more than the man did.
He sighed and got back up.
He just wanted to go home.
Goddamnit.
He has work today.
Wake up.
Work.
Smile.
Repeat.
Like it never happened.
(haha see what i did there, cus yk the thing i said the thing at the beginning. haha. no? ok nvm the next part is the part ur gonna wanna skip if your uncomfortable with masturbation and whatnot PLEASE skip if your under 15, 15 AND OLDER PLEASE)
__________________________________
He was so fucking stupid.
What the hell was he thinking?
You don’t just hug people who you don’t know.
Their softness, the warmth.
Their beauty.
The way they sank deeper into his contact.
The helplessness he felt through their touch
God, he was just beautiful.
He wanted to hold him— protect him for however long it took for the world around them to fade away.
He ran up the stairs to his apartment, shutting the door behind him and collapsing onto the floor.
He needed Cosmo.
His breaths were shallow and short, small gasps that filled his lungs. He ripped off his mask, his bun loose and messy, and his face flushed with a burning bright red.
He was so warm, uncomfortably so.
Sweat beaded down his face.
He could only think of Cosmo.
He needed Cosmo.
He needed him panting and sweating. He needed Cosmo inside of him.
Get a grip, Sprout.
His dick pulsated, like a heartbeat of its own. It was sweaty around his crotch; the urge filled him. The bulge pressed hard against his pants.
He rushed to the sink, cupping water to his face and splashing it in his face.
“Snap out of it.” He panted over the sink. He rubbed his face; his eyes rolled up.
He pictures Cosmo nude. His body, perfect, as Sprout’s tendrils explore it, digging deep into him. He pictured the way his face would look as he let out slow moans. The way he would bite Sprout, label him as his.
Oh, the things he wanted to do to him.
Sprout furrowed his brows and clenched his eyes shut.
He. Needed.
He unzipped his pants and flopped onto his bed. His penis pronged outwards; the boxers did little to hide the erection.
He wriggled out of his boxers and jeans, the cool air hitting his warm skin.
He wrapped his hand gently around his penis, going at a slow pace, then he grabbed on tighter, imagining the way his thighs would wrap around him as he bounced.
The strokes sped up, bouncing up and down mercilessly. His breath came out in quick, hot pants.
He went faster, thrusting his hips with each stroke, and he gritted his teeth until they were grinding against each other, forcing down any moans. A shudder shot down his spine as his back arched upwards.
A moan escaped from his lips as a creamy liquid dripped down his dick. A burst of cum shot up, coating his hands in the viscous liquid. He paused, lying still as he caught his breath, the realization dawning slowly.
He was disgusting.
He was a guy.
Cosmo was a guy.
He knew he could never look at a woman the way he could a man—he knew deep down that he could only ever have feelings for a man.
But he just came to the thought of a man.
He was disgusting.
And he wanted more.
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EXTRA (sorry this took so long guys :,D)
__________________________________
They told her what they needed.
Information.
So she watched. Her eyes followed every movement as he spoke to the barista.
The way he fidgeted.
The way he leaned forward when he talked.
To anyone else, it meant nothing.
To her, it meant everything.
She stayed silent.
And watched.
Would they be proud of her? Could she mean something to them?
She should keep watching.
They needed to be proud.
They don't want you. It whispered.
They don't want you, they don't want you, they don't want you. Its voice stayed quiet, ever so quiet. Repeating insistently.
They don’t want you; you're useless. It wouldn't shut up. It grew louder.
She ripped her eyes away from them, grabbing at her head, digging her nails into it. She let her head fall and quietly banged it on the table.
Ever so quietly.
She looked back up, watching intently.
The man behind the counter handed him a dessert.
He blushed when he took it.
Interesting.
When hunters try to catch rabbits, they will use bait to lure them into cages. The bait can be anything— fruits, vegetables, anything.
And it just happened that Dandys lost a rabbit.
And she found its bait.
Get her.