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Another day. The alarm rung out, the overly cheery tune being something that lately Cosmo has really began to hate. He groaned loudly, rolling over on his soft bed. The covers hugged him nicely, and he didn’t want to get up.
But he did. He always did.
As soon as the covers came off he felt cold. The air bit at him like a snake sinking its fangs into him, infecting his very being. He shivered a bit, feet hitting the cold floor.
He stretched, extending his arms out. A sharp pain stabbed at him, and he instantly bent over, clutching his chest expecting to feel skin.
But he was met with the feeling of rough fabric tied tightly together.
He bit out a hiss as he unwrapped them. Damn. He had forgotten to take his bindings off, he was much too tired yesterday after being stuck in the kitchen for hours on end. Bad marks traced his smooth skin, deep imbedded scars, some still fresh marked out where the bandages had dug in deep.
He turned to the mirror. He wished he hadn’t.
He could see the damage more clearly, but now he could also see the imperfections he tries to ignore. It’s like his eyes were obnoxiously pointing out every single thing wrong, jeering and laughing. He couldn’t look away for a good long while.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. One. Then two. A pause, and then the motion was repeated again and again. It was enough to temporarily shake Cosmo out of his thoughts.
“Coming!”
He swiftly went to his dresser searching for something to use. However, what he round was an empty role of bandages. His breath hitched and he got up to go to his abandoned hoard of bras he had stopped using. None of them fit anymore. He knew that, but he still looked and looked.
Nothing.
He swallowed hard and thought for a moment. He thought for awhile, actually. His body was already incredibly sore. It wouldn’t be good to worsen his pain, but even so, he couldn’t just go out like this. Now when..not when everything felt too visible. Too real.
“Cosmo? C'mon, we’re gonna be late! We’ve got a dozen more cupcakes to bake.” Sprout called from behind the door. It was unlocked, but he didn’t dare open it. It was for the best. “You’re uh..still gonna help me out right?” He chuckled nervously.
“I’ll be a minute. Get started without me.”
“If you’re sure,” Sprout sighed. “Just don’t ditch me.”
‘Wouldn’t dream of it’, the reply was on his tongue, but Cosmo didn’t speak. He listened as footsteps walked further and further away, and once they did, he let go of the breath he was holding.
What the hell was he gonna do?
Cosmo glanced at his untouched bras. His chest was too big. He felt like he had a parasite growing on his chest that he couldn’t free himself from. Instinctively, he crossed his arms over his front, pushing and pushing. They didn’t go down. They didn’t go away.
Fuck it.
He grabbed about three or four and put each of them on. The tight constricting material dug into his already broken skin, cutting deeper into flesh. Two down, two to go. Each addition made it tighter and tighter until it was hard to breath. No, painful to. But when he was done he turned to the mirror.
Flat. His chest felt flat. Like it should. Like it needed to be. He rubbed a hand over it, no bump. Like it was meant to be. Even if he couldn’t breathe, even if it hurt, he looked perfect. He looked good.
He smiled, and it hurt.
It didn’t last long.
It never did.
He forced his white hoodie over his head, tugging it down until the fabric lay smooth against his chest. Every movement felt wrong. Too tight, too sharp. Each breath was shallow, like his lungs were being gently but firmly told to behave. He ignored it. He always ignored it.
Cosmo grabbed his apron from the hook by the door and tied it around his waist. The knot took longer than usual; his fingers trembled, clumsy and weak. When he finally straightened, a wave of dizziness washed over him, and he had to brace himself against the dresser.
He grabbed his socks and pulled them over his legs. He fixed the smudged frosting on his head into something neater. Something that looked less like how he’d rolled and tossed in his sleep.
Cosmo walked to the door. He cracked it open and slipped into the hallway, keeping his shoulders hunched forward like that might somehow hide everything he couldn’t. He walked to the elevators, greeting with short replies to anyone who waved or said something to him first.
The elevator descended to the kitchen department. It was as vast and big as ever. He never understood why they needed so much cooking space for only two toons. No one else was hardly there.
The kitchen smelled strongly like sugar and butter already, warm and overwhelming. He glanced over, and saw that Sprout was humming to himself, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, frosting smeared on his cheek and his apron.
Just then, he looked up.
“Hey,” Sprout said, glancing up. “You okay? You look kinda pale.
“I’m fine,” Cosmo answered too quickly, too defensively, already moving toward the counter. He reached for a mixing bowl just to have something to do. Something normal.
Sprout frowned, just a little. “You sure? You’re breathing weird.”
Cosmo stiffened. He hadn’t realized it was that noticeable.
“Just tired,” he said, keeping his eyes on the counter. “Didn’t sleep much. Guess it was the stress from yesterday that kept me up, aha.”
Sprout hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah… yeah, that tracks.” He slid a tray of cupcakes toward Cosmo. “Can you frost these? I’ll handle the oven. Promise I won’t burn the place down.”
Cosmo nodded gratefully. Sitting down helped. He focused on the slow, careful motion of the piping bag, the way the frosting curled neatly into place. It was something he could control. Something that listened. Something that he could perfect.
But his eyes glanced up. At Sprout. He didn’t know why he decided that the Strawberry toon was more important than frosting the cupcakes, but he did.
Sprout was tall and lean. There was nothing feminine about him. Even when Cosmo had on four bras pressing down on his chest, it still wasn’t up to par with Sprouts. He wouldn’t ever have to try as hard, wouldn’t have to be in pain just to feel like he was who he needed to be. He didn’t have to constantly worry about people seeing him as something he wasn’t.
Cosmo swallowed and forced his eyes back down to the cupcakes. He pressed the piping bag a little too hard; frosting bulged out awkwardly before he corrected it. He scraped the excess away with the spatula, jaw tight.
Don’t think about it. Don’t compare. Don’t be unfair. Don’t-
A sharp stitch flared in his side, stealing the thought right out of his head. He sucked in a breath on instinct and immediately regretted it. The air hit a wall in his chest, shallow and useless.
the minutes passed, the pressure in his chest grew heavier, meaner. His vision blurred at the edges, and the room felt too warm, too loud.
He paused, hands hovering uselessly over the tray.
Sprout glanced over again. He noticed.
He always did.
“Cosmo,” Sprout said quietly, setting his pan down. He didn’t sound teasing this time. He didn’t sound rushed. “Hey. Sit back for a sec.”
“I am sitting,” Cosmo muttered, though his voice wobbled just enough to betray him. He grit his teeth.
Sprout stepped closer, lowering his voice like if he spoke any louder Cosmo would run away. “You’re shaking.”
Cosmo looked down at his hands. He hadn’t realized they were. His fingers were trembling like he’d just come in from the cold.
“I said I’m fine,” he repeated, weaker now. Saying it felt like lying through clenched teeth.
Sprout pulled out the chair beside him and sat, elbows on his knees. He didn’t look at Cosmo’s chest. He didn’t look anywhere Cosmo didn’t want him to. He just looked at Cosmo’s face.
It was awhile before he spoke. His expression was unreadable. For a moment, Cosmo thought he might go mad from the silence.
“Why don’t you ever want to tell me things?” Sprout asked. Slowly. “I won’t judge you for anything. You know I won’t. I just..I want to help you.”
“I don’t want help.” Cosmo narrowed his eyes.
“You’re hurting.”
Cosmo laughed, sharp and humorless. “Yeah? Congratulations. You’ve got fucking eyes.”
Sprout didn’t flinch.
Something in that, how he didn’t snap back, didn’t get defensive, made the pressure in Cosmo’s chest spike. He pushed his chair back abruptly, legs scraping against the floor.
“Stop saying that like you know,” Cosmo snapped. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “You don’t know what this feels like. You don’t know what it’s like to wake up and feel wrong before you even open your eyes. I just—” His voice cracked, and that only made him angrier. “I just want it to stop.”
Sprout stayed seated. Calm. Grounded. Like a wall Cosmo could throw himself against without it falling over.
“Okay,” Sprout said gently. “Yell at me.”
Cosmo blinked. “What?”
“Go on,” Sprout said, nodding once. “Get it out. Cmon, I can take it.”
That did it.
Cosmo turned away, pacing now, words spilling out faster than he could organize them. “I try so hard. Every day I try so hard to make it look right, to make it feel right, and it never does. I’m tired, Sprout. I’m so tired of pretending this doesn’t hurt. I hate mirrors. I hate clothes. I hate that I can’t just exist without thinking about it for five minutes.”
His breathing hitched. He dragged a hand through his hair, frosting smearing further. “And I hate that I can’t even let myself stop, because the second I do, everything feels… wrong again.”
“And I hate that you’re everything I want to be. I hate how you can just do it so easily! You don’t even have to try at all, you just..exist. That makes me hate you! It’s not fair, it really isn’t.”
He finally looked back.
Sprout was still there. Still listening. Eyes soft, not pitying, not scared.
When Cosmo ran out of words, the silence settled again. heavier, but the tension had lessened.
“Thank you,” Sprout said quietly. “For actually telling me.”
Cosmo huffed weakly. “You’re supposed to be mad, aren’t you?”
“Nope.” Sprout stood, stretching a bit like this was the most normal thing in the world. “I’m supposed to help.”
He walked past Cosmo toward the small break counter near the back of the kitchen. Cosmo watched him, confused and still buzzing with leftover anger.
“I’m putting the kettle on,” Sprout said over his shoulder. “You look like you could use something warm.”
“I don’t need tea,” Cosmo muttered.
“I know,” Sprout replied easily. “You need air. And rest. And probably to not be working right now. Tea just helps with the waiting part. Trust me, I know. Once I was super mad because of Vee’s mocking, and Teagan made some for me and it really helped. Seriously I’m telling you that stuff is like magic
The kettle clicked on. The sound was oddly grounding.
Sprout turned back, leaning against the counter. “I’m not mad at you,” he added, like Cosmo might be worrying about that. “And I’m not going to tell you what to do with your body. But I am going to ask you to sit down and rest. You look like you’re gonna keel over.”
Cosmo hesitated. His chest still felt tight, like a hand wrapped around his ribs. But the fight had drained out of him, leaving only exhaustion behind.
Slowly, he sank back into the chair.
Sprout pulled another one close, not touching, just present. “That’s it,” he murmured. “We’ve got time. Cupcakes can wait. Dandy will just have to be mad.”
Cosmo stared at the table, throat burning. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to snap.”
“I know,” Sprout said.
Cosmo’s lips trembled. “I didn’t mean to yell.”
“I know.” Sprout gently reached out.
“I don’t hate you.” Tears threatened to spill.
“I know. You’re mad at the situation. Not me.” Sprout smiled as Cosmo leaned into the hug invitation.
Gently, Sprout held him. It was a little awkward since they were both seated in opposite chairs, but they made it work. He rubbed gentle circles on Cosmo’s back as he sniffled. This was fine. It quelled his worries, if only for the moment.
But a moment wouldn’t be enough to save years worth of discomfort.