Work Text:
It was always the same action, the same result and the same thoughts. It didn't matter how deep, how many, or with what, Shrimpo needed to feel it. Every minute of his life was spent yearning to feel it again, to taste the bitter ichor dripping from his wound, to see the fat under his skin one more time. His entire days were spent thinking about the feeling of comfort it brings to him.
Every swipe, every second of the light stinging, every little moment. He loved all of it, how it would make him excited to do more swipes than last time, how his eyes would close after he went deeper than he intended to.
The only thing he hated was how much of a mess it always left when he was done, the ichor stained tissues, the drops of it on the floor, the dirty blade in his hand. Shrimpo wishes he didn't had to clean all of this up, that he could just go to sleep and let somebody else do it, but at the same time nobody can know, what would they think about him then?
His deepest fantasy of being somebody other than a mess full of hatred, he was full of things that could never be let out for toons to see, the bruises it felt on his mind were unfixable, his whole life until the last minutes will be the same as it started, even if he would be bleeding out on bathroom floor and not being surrounded by people that were excited about him being a real life cartoon character.
Maybe if he wouldn't have to be a bully, maybe just then he would have any different purpose than being the worst one? Maybe he could have a chance to be loved, to be cherished.
Things that Shrimpo wanted, he needed, were always just out of his reach.
His thought were eating him alive everyday, his brain was rotting with every word he said.
before swiping again his mind went blank, all he could hear was somebody's voice yelling, it wasn't angry, mad, upset, anything. It was a scared, concerned scream.
"Shrimpo! Shrimpo what are you doing!?" Sprout ran up to Shrimpo, sitting on his own blood stained, dirty bed. Shrimpo's face flashed with fear, not because he was scared of Sprout, he was scared of being seen as weak, worthless.
Sprout grabbed Shrimpo's wrists, his skin was warm, so warm and comforting, he immediately tensed up at the touch, it was so welcoming and gentle yet he couldn't relax.
He inspected Shrimpo's wounds, wincing lightly at the sight depth of them. Sprout's eyes wandering all over Shrimpo's arm sent nauseous feeling down his stomach.
"Do you have them anywhere else than wrists?" Sprout's voice was gentle, so much gentler than usually. Shrimpo just looked down at his thighs, not making smallest sound, not even daring to move. "Shrimpo you have to tell me, atleast show me them if you can" Sprout's voice spoke in a uncharacteristically soft and quiet manner.
Shrimpo took his arm away from Sprout roughly, glaring at his face full of concern. How could Sprout be so kind to him, out of all toons? He expected Sprout to get fed up with him already, he expected that Sprout will start yelling at him about being childish, not working with him. Yet nothing like that happened.
Sprout sat next to Shrimpo, his hand resting on Shrimpo’s shoulder. It was so, so awkward for both of them. Every time Sprout tried to ask him about it, Shrimpo just glared at him and moved away from him.
“…Shrimpo?” Sprout broke the silence between them, he looked down at Shrimpo’s bloody arm and squinted his eyes slightly. “Can I see?” His voice was quiet, yet so warm and welcoming.
”Fine.” Shrimpo finally agreed, it was clear in his voice that he is upset about Sprout seeing him like this. “But don’t touch” He spoke up again, this time he was clearly quieter. Shrimpo showed Sprout his arm, the cuts weren’t tragic of course.
Sprout winced at the sight of them again, he gently held Shrimpo’s wrist to get a good look of them, fat was visible in few of them, Shrimpo looked anywhere but on Sprout’s face. The guilt was eating him alive, the guilt of making Sprout worried, of making a mess on his bed, of letting Sprout see him like that. “Can you wait for me while I get bandages?”
”Stop treating me like a kid.”
”I’m not”
”You are.”
”I’m just worried Shrimpo.” Sprout got up, looking at Shrimpo one more time before he walked out of his room.
He tiptoed on the way to bathroom, trying to be as quiet as possible to not wake anyone else, the last thing he wanted it to make Shrimpo wait any longer than needed, or even worse to any other toon to see him like that.
He got bandages, spray for disinfecting wounds and plasters.
“Does it still hurt?”
“…No” Shrimpo’s voice was quiet, and so so tired. All he wanted to do is go to sleep and forget this happened.
Shrimpo laid down on his bed, looking at his neatly bandaged and cleaned arm. He was grateful for this, he really was. And he wishes he knew how to show it.
Shrimpo felt his mattress shift a bit, and arm wrap around his waist, he stiffened quickly but leaned into the touch. He felt how warm Sprout was, his soft skin against his own, they both did wanted this to end, not now, not ever.
Shrimpo’s head-tail thingy (??) wagged slightly when they laid together longer, Sprout noticed, of course he did. He noticed everything.
”Pfft- are you happy?” Sprout chuckled quietly and smiled softly, enjoying his time with Shrimpo, enjoying how he wasn’t angry, how he wasn’t throwing insults at him.
”I HATE being happy!” Shrimpo barked back, mumbling something under his breath after and moving a teeny little minimal bit closer to Sprout, as much as he hated to admit it, he was happy.
He was happy with being the center of somebody’s attention.
He was happy with being taken care of like that.