Chapter Text
Looey laid in his bed, empty. He felt completely hollow, cold, like nothing about him could matter less. He felt like air. He's never taken seriously... he's there for entertainment and entertainment only. It's not even his entertainment toons laugh at, it's him!
It's incredibly draining to know that. His slogan, "they're not laughing at you, they're laughing with you" isn't holding up like it used to.
He clawed at his stomach, that uneasy feeling settling in his gut. Hey, at least he felt *something* right? Even if that feeling was his heart being grabbed, poked, prodded, and smooshed?
This is stupid—it all is. He is. Why can't he just be easily accepted like the rest? He was never necessarily hated by anyone (besides Shrimpo.. because he's just him), but was he liked? Maybe by Sprout and Yatta, but Sprout's his boyfriend, and Yatta's been his pal forever! They HAVE to like him!
Right?
They do, right?
And suddenly, Looey was a mess. The tears began to fall, and there was no going back. How could he stay positive? The thoughts had begun to settle, and he began to remember. Much more than he should've, really.
Sprouts always been liked, by everyone! He doesn't even have to try. He's so envious.. but he loves him so much. He gets why he's liked.
Yatta didn't even have to try either. Her tricks were cooler, her colors fit better, and the hype for her was bigger than it was for Looey. She's loud and proud, with little doubt.
On the other hand, the only time Looey's ever needed is to distract on runs. He's never taken seriously. He's laughed at, no matter what. He's seen as awkward and unfunny and people were disappointed at his unveil. He's just a bother, nothing more than a burden.
*"Wouldn't they be better off if I was never here?"* The words rolled off of his tongue as the tears rolled off of his cheek. He couldn't take the wallowing anymore.
So, back to old habits it is, hm? Pathetic. What more could one expect from him? From Looey, of all toons? Of course.
He sits up, his stomach hurts now. He feels like he might vomit.. but that's for later him to worry about if that is the case. He shimmies his sleeve up, and stares at all the old lines across the rubber. Disgusting. Would they laugh at those, too?
He bit his lip, and looked away for a moment. Was he actually going to do this? Again? After all of this time?—yeah, yeah he was. He shook his head mentally, shuffling over to his makeup bin. Down at the bottom was his old trusty piece of steel. An eyebrow razor, with a pink handle and cute little flower at the top. He flicked the cap off, and sat back upon his bed. He sighed and looked down at his arm once again. He swiped lightly. It's been a while, he had to get adjusted.
Then he looked at the door, and realized he forgot to lock it. Woah. That could've been bad.. He got up, and locked it. His first swipe wasn't bad enough to draw any ichor anyways..
He picked the razor back up, and got back to work. A few tiny swipes later, he decided it wasn't enough. He could do better—he could do deeper. Would he be laughed at then? Would he be pitied? Feared, even?
It was a blur after that, really. He hadn't meant to press so hard, he hadn't meant to dig the blade into his rubber the way he did. He didn't, he swears. He can stop whenever he wants. But he didn't want to.
While in his blackout, he swiped... and swiped.. and swiped. Eventually he came back to his senses... But his arm was numb, and he was panting. Ichor had stained his bed—This is bad.
There were three gaping wounds in his arm, and he thinks one of them he went over more than once without realizing. It was gushing, and the ichor seemed thicker than the other two.
*Oh shit.*
He panicked a bit, the icky feeling in his gut getting worse. He scrambled for something in his room, but failed to find anything useful. Then he heard a knock at his door.
*"Loo?"* Sprout. Bad timing.. oh dear.
"Looey, are you in there? I was gonna make some cupcakes and we haven't hung out in a while, just us... figured it'd be nice!"
Looey swallowed thickly, his mouth going dry. His eyes followed suit. "..Uh. Y-yeah! Yeah sure! Haha- um. Give me a minute, will you?"
Sprout pondered.. what could that be about? He doesn't sound like himself... but to be fair, he's been like this all week. He still has to check up on him though. "Sure thing.. are you okay in there?"
Looey chuckled nervously, waving his free hand in the air as if Sprout could see.. "*Pshh*, of course I am! Just need a sec!"
Looey heard an unsure "okay" behind the door, before hearing footsteps fade away. He exhaled, looking at his arm as it created a puddle on the carpet. He cursed himself, sighing as he grabbed onto an old prop made of cotton and wrapped it around his arm tightly. He made sure it really squeezed him, trying to stop the ichor.
He shook it off, grabbing a thicker long-sleeved top and replacing the one he had on previously with it. He adjusted his ruffle collar, and sighed as he looked in the mirror. He wiped his face, and quickly fixed whatever smudged makeup he had, then ran right out of his door. There was no time to clean up, he couldn't leave Sprout waiting.
ꔛ
"Seeds?" Looey called out, in the kitchen. Sprout smiled as his gaze met his own.
"Loo! What took you so long? You okay?" He hummed, quickly wrapping an arm around the slightly taller toon and squeezing.
"Nothing—hey! Easy!" Looey giggled, wrapping both arms around Sprout and shoving his face into the crook of his neck. "Yeah, don't worry. Really."
"..I don't believe that for a second, toots." Sprout mumbled back, letting his other arm wrap around Looey.
"And why dontcha?"
"..Because you're always estatic. Even when you're feeling down, its not like you to be so... meh. Y'know? You've been a little off all week. Figured now's a good time to bring it up." Sprout huffed, with a raised eyebrow and a slight smirk. Did Sprout not trust him?
"..Okay. Well.. uh. You're observant! Haha!" Looey chuckled, raising an eyebrow awkwardly. "Really though, I just wanted to bake with ya, not get interrogated."
Sprout sighed, his smile there now. This dork.. "I guess that's understandable.. but if something was wrong, you'd tell me, right?"
"Of course!" Looey nodded, grabbing Sprouts hand and bringing him back over to the counter. Finally...
ꔛ
They mixed ingredients together one by one, Looey busy glaring down at the bowl below him to be able to realize his sleeve was absolutely drenched in ichor... Sprout reached over to grab an egg from beside the bowl, then paused.
He stayed quiet, but lightly grabbed Looey's wrist. He knew it, he just knew it. He didn't say anything, didn't accuse him of anything, just looked up at Looey's eyes.
He gave him the chance to lie, to fess up, anything. What'd Looey choose? A dumbass excuse.
"..I don't- eugh. What happened? I think it's old, haha. I'm not sure how that got there.." Looey muttered, attempting to pull back his wrist. Sprout didn't let that slide though, resting his other hand above Looey's.
"Don't bullshit me, Loo.." Sprout said softly, raising an eyebrow. "It's soaked, it's clearly fresh, honey..." He paused. "Did something happen...? ..or is that why you're acting off." He asked quietly.
"..I-it's nothing, really. I don't.. I don't know what happened. Must've like just happened.. or something.." Looey stammered, waving it off. "Really killin' the baking mood here, haha..!"
"..."
"..."
"..if you're doing it again I want you to tell me. I'm here for you more than anything. We'll work through it. You don't have to keep making excuses, Loo." Sprout pleaded softly, his touch on Looey's wrist still gentle.
The room was silent once more, the tension in the room thick. It was only broken by the sound of Looey's awkward chuckle, that slowed, and morphed into a cry. He blinked rapidly, his free hand balling into a fist.
*He was caught, this was it.*
Suddenly he felt everything. The disappointment from Sprout, the heat in the room, the sting in his arm. Everything hit him at once, all like a brick. He looked away, began to stammer a bit, and fidgeted. He stimmed a little, his feet rubbed together anxiously, and he shrugged. He felt like he was a little kid, just getting caught taking a cookie from the jar.
Sprout watched as Looey crumbled. His look of worry morphed into one of empathy and pity. He let go of his wrist and wrapped his arms around Looey, holding him tightly. He'll never let him go. How did this happen again? Why wasn't he able to prevent this?
He shook that off, Looey needs him now. By the time Sprout was out of his own thoughts, Looey was holding onto Sprout as well. All Sprout heard was soft sniffles and mumbled apologies.
"Mm mm, no.. Don't apologize.. don't." Sprout mumbled. He took Looeys face and looked at him as stable as possible. "Let me see. If its still oozing you clearly didn't patch it up well enough. I need to help you."
Looey's pupils dialated as Sprout took his face, swallowing. He lost himself in those eyes every time. He blinked, and nodded. He sniffled and stammered around for a second, before Sprout lightly took his opposite wrist, grabbed the first aid, then sat on the island counter with him.
When Looey finally pulled his sleeve up, Sprout paused. His eyes widened and he stuttered, stumbling with his words. He decided to shut up. The tension was thick and heavy, both of their thoughts self-blaming.
ꔛ;
Why couldn't Sprout catch on? There were warning signs, werent there? Why did this happen? Why didn't Looey say anything? How did it get this bad? What could he possibly have used? What does this mean? What's going to happen? Will he be okay on his own?
Why did Looey do that? Why'd he be stupid enough to not thoroughly cover the thing? Why'd he go so deep? What if Sprout leaves him for this? Is he disgusted? Does he fear him? Does he think he's a weirdo? *Does he view him as he views himself now?*
ꔛ;
After Sprout finished wrapping up his arm and cleaning the wounds much more thoroughly than Looey could've, he stared down at Looey's bandaged wrist in his hand while biting his lip. His emotions began to betray him, and he couldn't help but feel partially at blame for all of this. He wrapped his arms around Looey again while still sitting, shoving his face into the crook of his neck and shutting his eyes tight. He inhaled his scent, and breathed him in.
What if he had done something worse? What if Sprout had lost him?
By now, all of the baking has been left in the dust. They've forgotten about that entire ordeal. Probably wouldn't be the best batch anyways; both of their minds were preoccupied.
They have a lot of talking to do.
ꔛ