Chapter Text
The door slams behind the balloon dog, a current wheezing sound coming out from his mouth from the helium in his head pushing itself out as he breathes heavily, though his pawed hand stays gripping his tail, preventing it from getting crushed into the doorway- AGAIN, oh he would melt down if that happened right now!
He's panicking, that's evident through his breathing and the fact he slides down the door, holding himself by the knees- and for possibly one of the dumbest reasons he could imagine! He.. rejected A cupcake from Sprout! He just wasn't hungry, he didn't feel like A sweet treat, but he swore in that moment when he rejected the pastry-
God. He looked so sad- so disappointed like he'd broken the strawberry's heart, and it felt like he was such an awful person.
Sprout gave him- almost everything that he could ever have wanted or asked for, and yet he feels this insistence to reject and run away from all of the affections, which may explain why he stammered such A weak excuse before he did what he was best at- running!
But now that he's here, in his room but keeping his eyes clenched shut- he still feels so scared, so worthless, like a burden that refused to be anything but that- he stands and starts to walk through, still keeping his eyes shut- though that only results in him stubbing his toe and letting out a noise- one that's a mixture of air wheezing out and a dogs whimper.
" Dough- owh- " He'd follow up the squeal with his eyes finally opening- looking at his bed, which was similarly colored to the marker makeup on his face- and recently fixed with the assistance (and persistence) of Tisha making him clean his room, and Looey grabs onto his snout as he thinks about the experience- it felt humiliating, he sometimes just let his bedroom get so bad and he felt like everyone judged him for it- laughed at him for it.
His paws let go, and he tries to relax- trying to breathe as he feels around the bed- just to see a poke of metal through his bedsheet.
A tiny, singular thumbtack- one planted by Shrimpo, no doubt, 'what was he doing, running low on budget?' Looey would think, carefully grabbing the plastic part and looking a bit more carefully than he should- it's one of those transparent ones where he can see the full point inside, and something bubbles in his mind as he looks at it.
What if he just.. popped himself?
The thought is at first shocking and terrifying but then there's an odd acceptance of it- yes, he should do it, he's got a million reasons why- nobody would have to deal with his constant attempts to appear not down, to not be such a sad, pathetic waste of life- nobody would have to listen to his awful jokes, see the awful joke that was his whole existence- and Shrimpo would probably revel in the fact he was dead via one of his own little planted spikes. As he thinks of the picture his eyes widen- he's almost hypnotized by the idea- everyone's lives would be so much better without him- especially Sprouts, he felt he just dragged the berry down anyways- he was sure they were just together out of some sense of pity- and god he loved Sprout but he "knew" if he was gone- Sprout would move on, he'd love again, and quickly too- everyone loved him..
Even if Looey didn't kill himself now, would it change the fact he was bound to be left? Doomed to be abandoned for someone else?... Looey had barely reacted to the fact he was holding his green arm out, the other purple limb holding the thumbtack in a good position for stabbing his wrist- though he shakes and shivers the closer he drifts the piece of metal down. " Come on. " He'd grumble at himself, whispering, he was aware it'd be "better" for everyone if he just did it. But a sense of cowardice (or basic survival instincts, as a mentally stable person would call it) stops him.
" It'd be quick- wait- no, no it wouldn't! My arm would... " He'd stop his sentence with an anxious look, and he'd realize that it wouldn't kill him- not immediately, he'd make a bloody mess all over the floor with his exploded arm- and he'd only die slowly- only making more of a mess.
A frustrated whistle escapes his nose, and he grabs onto the thumbtack with his dominant paw now- his other being used to hold his head in place- 'this would be quicker', he thinks to himself as he clutches his eyes shut again, his teeth gritting as he tries to hold himself still.
Even then- even as he's putting his all into trying to go through with the act- his hands still shake, and he reaches his limit once the thumbtack just Barely touches his skin.
It's almost immediate, receding away and throwing the thumbtack with a yell- almost snapped out of the originally alluring thought of death only to be chewed up and spat out with fear and a sudden appreciation for the helium in his heart and the air in his lungs- of course, it's all coated with a layer of fear- and he balls up on his bed, his tail tucking in and his knees bundling up as he represses crying- the wheezing, dog whining sound returning.
Eventually- once he's finished, he's exhausted. Numbed in a way of what he was planning and decided to try and just lay on his back to.. relax? Zone out..? Either way, he was done. Exhausted.