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Looey was an idiot. Or at least, that’s what he believed.
Half an hour earlier, Poppy and Shelly had come up to him, asking if he could be the distractor for their next run. He agreed without hesitation, thrilled to have been chosen among all the distractors they had. Like, Looey was good, but he wasn’t the best option.
He never was.
Still, he nodded too quickly, smiled too wide, and said yes before they could even consider asking someone else. That was his thing, being whatever people needed him to be. If he hesitated, even for a second, he feared they’d change their minds. Pick someone better. Someone who didn’t have to try so hard.
So he tried harder.
Looey shook his head as he ran, trying to clear the noise spiraling inside it. Behind him, Twisted Pebble, Brusha, and Teagan were right on his heels, their presence pressing in like a constant threat he couldn’t shake.
His lungs burned, legs threatening to give out, but he didn’t dare slow down.
Sprout had been healing him nonstop since the run started, using up tape after tape just to keep him going. All of it on him. All of it wasted on someone who could barely keep up.
His chest tightened.
He couldn’t keep disappointing him.
Or Poppy. Or Shelly. Or anyone.
“Just keep running,” he muttered under his breath, like saying it would somehow make it true.
His grip tightened, heartbeat loud in his ears as he forced himself forward, faster, anything to stay ahead, anything to make all the effort they’d put into him worth something.
Because if he stopped…
If he messed this up—
It was sudden. Clumsy. His foot caught on nothing, and the next thing he knew, he was hitting the ground hard, the impact knocking the air straight out of his lungs.
For a second, everything went quiet.
Around him, the other toons stopped working on their machines. The steady rhythm of progress broke, replaced by a sharp, collective stillness. And then, Twisted Pebble was on him.
Looey didn’t even have time to get up.
His thoughts scattered, slipping through his fingers like he couldn’t hold onto anything anymore.
The last thing he saw was Goob holding onto Sprout, gripping him tight, stopping him from throwing himself toward the Twisted dog.
And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.
—
The kitchen felt warmer than the rest of Gardenview.
Looey stood near the doorway, shoulders tense, still catching his breath. He’d been sent by Dyle to find Cosmo, who was already there, focused on preparing dinner for the toons. The soft clatter of utensils and the faint smell of something sweet filled the room.
Healing cookies.
Of course.
For a moment, Looey didn’t move. He just stood there, feeling out of place, like he didn’t quite belong in something so calm.
Back in the lobby, he’d scared everyone half to death when he stumbled in. The looks, the sudden rush of voices, the way everything had turned toward him all at once. It still lingered in his chest.
Tisha had been the one to help him, steadying him when his legs almost gave out, guiding him all the way to the kitchen. She hadn’t said much, just stayed close, making sure he didn’t fall again.
At the door, she’d given him a small nod before turning back.
“Take care,” she’d said quietly.
And then she was gone.
Now it was just him and Cosmo.
Looey swallowed, stepping inside properly this time, trying not to make too much noise even though he’d already been noticed.
Cosmo glanced up from the counter almost immediately. He had flour dusted lightly on his hands, sleeves rolled up, the faint smell of freshly baked cookies lingering around him. For a second, his expression softened, before it shifted into concern.
“Looey?” he said, setting down what he was holding. “What do you need?”
His eyes quickly scanned him over, taking in the unsteady stance, the way he held himself like he might fall apart if he moved too fast.
“Did the run end already?”
The question hung in the air, careful but tense.
Looey hesitated.
His fingers curled slightly at his sides, gaze dropping to the floor as if it were easier to look there than at him.
“Not… really,” he admitted, voice quiet. “I mean—yeah, for me.”
He let out a small, awkward breath, like he didn’t know how to explain it without making it worse.
“Dyle told me to come find you.” He shifted his weight, wincing just a little. “Said I’d feel better with your healing cookies.”
His eyes flickered for a second, toward the tray on the counter before quickly looking away again.
“I—I’m fine, though. It’s not that bad.”
Cosmo didn’t look convinced.
He didn’t say anything right away, just studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to piece together everything Looey wasn’t saying. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turned back to the counter.
“Take a sit,” Cosmo said gently, already reaching for one of the cookies. “You’re not fine.”
Looey hesitated.
His first instinct was to argue, to brush it off, to insist again that he could handle it, that he didn’t need more help. He’d already taken too much.
But his legs… didn’t feel very convincing.
“…Okay,” he mumbled, almost reluctantly, moving toward one of the chairs. Each step felt heavier now that he wasn’t running on adrenaline. He sat down carefully, like even that might hurt if he did it wrong.
Cosmo walked over and placed a cookie in front of him.
“Eat.”
Looey stared at it for a second.
“…Actually, you should save them,” he said quietly. “For the others. They’re still out there.”
Cosmo’s expression tightened, just a little.
“I made enough for everyone,” he replied. “Including you.”
That made Looey’s chest twist in a way he didn’t like.
Including you.
He looked down at the cookie again, hands resting in his lap, unmoving.
“…I messed up,” he admitted under his breath. “I didn’t even last that long.”
The words felt heavier once they were out.
“I slowed them down. Sprout had to keep healing me the whole time…” His voice dipped, guilt creeping in. “He used everything on me.”
His fingers curled slightly against his sleeves.
“I wasn’t supposed to be the problem.”
Cosmo didn’t interrupt him right away.
He watched Looey carefully, really looked at him, the way his shoulders curled inward, the way his fingers twisted into his sleeves like he was trying to make himself smaller. Then, slowly, he pulled a chair closer and sat in front of him.
“Looey…” Cosmo started, voice softer now. “Can you look at me for a second?”
It took a moment, but Looey barely did.
“I need you to listen to me, alright?” he continued. “Because I don’t think you’re being fair to yourself at all. You keep saying you were the problem, that you slowed everyone down… but that’s not what I’m hearing. What I’m hearing is that you kept going even when things were already stacked against you.”
Looey frowned slightly, like he didn’t quite believe that.
“I fell,” he insisted, quieter but stubborn. “I couldn’t keep them distracted like I was supposed to. I messed up the whole point of why they picked me. If I had just done it right, then Sprout wouldn’t have had to—”
“Hey,” Cosmo cut in gently, not harsh, but firm enough to stop him. “Don’t do that.”
Looey blinked.
“Don’t turn this into something it’s not,” Cosmo went on, leaning forward slightly. “Sprout didn’t heal you because you failed. He healed you because that’s what he chose to do. Because you mattered in that moment. Because keeping you up meant keeping the run going longer.”
Looey’s grip tightened around the cookie, eyes dropping again.
“But he used everything on me…”
“And?” Cosmo replied softly. “If the situation were reversed, do you really think he would’ve wanted you to just… let him go down instead?”
That made Looey hesitate.
“I… no, but that’s different.”
“It’s not,” Cosmo said gently. “You just think it is because it’s you.”
Silence.
Cosmo let that sit for a second before continuing, his tone softening even more.
“You’re allowed to need help, Looey. You’re allowed to struggle in a run, to mess up, to get overwhelmed. That doesn’t make you a burden.” He paused, watching his reaction. “And it definitely doesn’t erase everything you did manage to do.”
Looey swallowed, his voice coming out smaller now.
“…I didn’t do enough.”
Cosmo shook his head slightly.
“You stayed in longer than you think,” he said. “You kept them busy. You gave the others time to work. Even falling where you did, you didn’t drag the danger back into the group. Do you realize how important that is?”
Looey hadn’t thought of it like that.
“You got out of there,” Cosmo continued, softer now. “You made it back here. That’s not something someone ‘useless’ does.”
That word lingered.
Looey’s expression cracked just a little, like something inside him didn’t quite know how to respond to that.
“…It doesn’t feel like that,” he admitted quietly.
“I know,” Cosmo said immediately. “I know it doesn’t. Feeling like you failed can be really loud, especially when you care this much about not letting people down.” He gave a small, understanding smile. “But feelings aren’t always accurate. They don’t always tell the full story.”
Looey looked down at the cookie again, quieter now.
“I just… didn’t want to disappoint them,” he murmured. “They trusted me.”
“And you think one bad moment is enough to take all of that away?” he asked gently. “You really think Poppy, Shelly, or Sprout would look at everything you did and decide it meant nothing because you fell once?”
Looey didn’t answer.
“…I don’t know,” he said after a moment.
Cosmo reached forward slightly, not quite touching him, but close enough to be grounding.
“They’re probably worried about you right now,” he said softly. “Not disappointed. Not annoyed. Worried.”
That made Looey’s chest tighten again, but in a different way.
Cosmo gently nudged the cookie closer in his hands.
“Eat,” he murmured. “You don’t have to earn taking care of yourself, you know.”
Looey hesitated… then finally took a small bite.
Cosmo smiled, just a little.
“There you go.”
—
The hallway felt quieter than usual.
Looey kept his head down as he walked, the warmth of the kitchen already fading from his skin. The cookie had helped, his body didn’t feel like it was about to give out anymore, but the heaviness in his chest hadn’t gone anywhere.
Voices echoed faintly from the lobby.
They were back.
For a split second, his steps slowed.
He could go there. He should go there. That’s what anyone else would do, right? Check on the others, make sure they are okay, say something, anything.
But the thought of facing them made something twist painfully inside him.
Especially Sprout.
The image hit him too quickly, Sprout running out of tape, staying close to him, choosing him over and over again just for it to end like that.
Looey’s fingers curled slightly.
No.
He couldn’t.
Not right now.
He swallowed and turned away before he could think about it any longer, footsteps quieter now as he headed down the opposite corridor. Each step felt heavier, like his body was finally catching up to everything he’d been holding in.
By the time he reached his room, he barely hesitated.
The door clicked shut behind him, cutting off the distant noise of voices and movement. Just like that, everything felt… still.
Too still.
Looey stood there for a moment, staring at nothing in particular.
Then the tension left him all at once.
His shoulders slumped, and he dragged himself over to the bed, not even bothering to change or take off anything. He just let himself fall onto it, the mattress dipping under his weight as he curled slightly onto his side.
The silence pressed in.
And with it, the thoughts came back.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“…I should’ve done better,” he whispered to no one.
The words sounded smaller in here.
More honest.
He pulled the blanket closer, almost instinctively, like it might shield him from the feeling sitting heavy in his chest.
Out there, they were probably talking about the run. About what went wrong. About him.
He turned his face into the pillow, hiding from it, even if it was only in his head.
“I can’t—” he muttered, voice shaking. “I can’t do this.” He pushed himself off the bed and paced a few steps, restless, like staying still would make him drown in his own thoughts. His gaze drifted to the dresser, and for a moment he just stood there, frozen, before walking over.
His hands hovered above it, trembling slightly. His thoughts twisted into something messy, overwhelming, less about fixing anything and more about escaping the feeling clawing at his chest. He hesitated, his reflection catching in the mirror. He looked exhausted… distant, like he didn’t recognize himself.
Slowly, like his body was moving before he could fully decide, he pulled one of the drawers open.
It slid out with a soft sound that felt too loud in the quiet room.
For a second, he just stared inside. Then his hand moved.
He reached in and pulled out a small blade, holding it carefully, almost unsure, like it didn’t quite belong in his grasp. The metal caught the light faintly as his hand trembled around it.
Looey stared at it.
His thoughts blurred together, but none of them clear enough to feel like a real answer. It didn’t fix anything. He knew that. Somewhere, he knew that.
So why did it feel like an option?
“…This is stupid,” he whispered, though his voice didn’t sound convinced.
His thumb shifted slightly against the handle, breath uneven, eyes fixed on it like if he looked away, something worse would take its place. His chest ached, tight and heavy, and for a moment, everything narrowed down to that feeling and the object in his hand.
Then something in him faltered.
“…Cosmo would hate this,” he muttered under his breath, the thought slipping in without permission. “…Sprout too.”
His hand shook more noticeably now.
The silence pressed in again, but it felt different this time, less like it was swallowing him whole, more like it was waiting.
Waiting for him to decide.
Looey went back to bed and slowly pulled down his pants. His legs looked almost foreign in the dim light, pale, too thin, crisscrossed with faint silver lines that caught the glow from the streetlamp outside. Some were older, faded. Others still pink at the edges.
He exhaled sharply through his nose and wiped his palm against the bedspread. The blade felt colder than he remembered, or maybe his fingers were just too warm. He pressed the pad of his thumb against the edge, testing, before pulling it away to watch the tiny bead of red well up. It didn't even hurt. That was the worst part.
The first cut was always hesitant. A shallow line, barely more than a scratch, just to see if he still could. The second one went deeper. His breath hitched, but his hand didn't stop. The third one made him bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from making a sound. The pain was sharp, immediate, almost clarifying in its intensity.
The fourth cut came easier, like his skin had surrendered to the ritual. Blood welled up in a slow, dark line, trickling down his thigh in thin rivulets. He watched, detached, as one droplet swelled fat at the edge of the wound before breaking free to land on the bedsheet, a perfect crimson circle that spread into the fabric like ink on blotting paper.
The blade resumed its path. Five. Six. Seven. The lines overlapped now, a messy lattice of red. His forearm looked like a page from a notebook, crossed-out thoughts in flesh.
Somewhere beneath the pain, a thought flickered:
“This isn’t fixing anything.” But it wasn’t about fixing. It was about the way the world sharpened into focus when the blade bit deep, how the static in his head quieted for just those few seconds.
The blade clattered onto the nightstand, louder than he'd intended. He pressed a wad of tissues against his thigh, watching the red seep through in widening blooms.
He balled up the bloody tissues and tossed them toward the wastebasket. They missed, landing softly on the floor. For a moment, he considered leaving them there. Let Tisha find them in the morning, let her put it together the way she always did. But then he pictured her face, that tight, helpless look she got when she didn't know how to help him, and he dragged himself off the bed to pick them up.
“Tomorrow will be another day," he told himself, curling up in his bed as tears escaped his eyes and ran down his cheeks.
—
The next morning, Looey woke up sore and exhausted, barely able to walk without discomfort. Still, he forced himself out of his room and into the hallway, where Yatta and Blot quickly found him and started talking about last night.
Yatta was energetic as always, asking where he had gone. Looey avoided answering honestly, brushing it off by saying he was just tired.
They walked together to the dining hall, where Looey sat with them in a table with other toons. He barely ate, keeping his head down while his friends kept talking. When they asked if he was okay, Looey insisted he was fine, not wanting to worry them any more than they already did.
Even though the conversation continued around him, he stayed quiet and distant, more focused on getting through the moment than actually being part of it.
When they finished eating and were about to leave to plan new ideas for their shows, a soft voice called out Looey’s name.
He turned, and there was Sprout, walking toward him with a firm, worried look.
Looey’s heart skipped, and warmth rushed to his cheeks before he could stop it.
“Looey,” Sprout said gently, stopping in front of him. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Blot glanced between them, raising a brow, while Yatta tilted her head.
Looey hesitated, then nodded quickly.
“Yeah—yeah, sure.”
Yatta gave him a small look, not quite teasing this time, more curious than anything. “We’ll be in the usual spot,” she said, nudging Blot.
Once they were alone, Sprout didn’t waste time.
“Cosmo told me what happened last night,” he said quietly.
Looey froze.
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” Sprout added quickly, his voice gentle but serious. “I should’ve checked on you. I didn’t think it had gotten that bad.”
“It’s fine,” Looey said, almost automatically.
Sprout shook his head a little. “No, it’s not.”
There was a small pause before he asked, softer this time, “Is there… anything I can do? To make you feel even a little better?”
Looey hesitated, caught off guard by the question. “…I don’t know.”
“That’s okay,” Sprout said. “We can figure something out.”
After a moment, he gave a small, tentative smile. “Come on. Walk with me.”
Looey blinked. “Where?”
“The kitchen,” Sprout replied. “I’ll bake you something. You like sweet stuff, right?”
Looey huffed faintly, not quite a laugh but close enough. “…Yeah.”
“Good. Then that’s a start.”
They began walking through the halls together, side by side. Sprout kept his pace slow, matching Looey’s without making it obvious.
They kept going like that for a moment longer, until the kitchen doors came into view. Sprout pushed one open, holding it for Looey before stepping in after him.
The kitchen was warm, quieter than the dining hall had been. It smelled faintly sweet already, like something had been baked earlier.
“Sit,” Sprout said, nodding toward the counter stools. “I’ll handle the rest.”
Looey hesitated, then climbed up onto one, resting his elbows lightly against the counter. He watched as Sprout moved around the kitchen with an easy familiarity, tying back his sleeves.
“What are you making?” Looey asked, more out of habit than real curiosity.
Sprout glanced back at him briefly. “Something simple. You’ll like it.”
There was a pause, filled with the quiet sounds of utensils and soft clinks of bowls. “…Cosmo was worried too,” Sprout added after a while, not looking at him this time. “He didn’t tell me everything. Just enough.”
Looey’s fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the counter. “I figured,” he muttered. Sprout nodded faintly.
“I didn’t want to come at you with… a hundred questions or anything.” He paused, then added more softly, “I just didn’t want to ignore it either.”
The quiet settled again, heavier this time. Looey kept his eyes down.
Sprout hesitated, then reached out in a small, familiar gesture, giving a light pat to Looey’s thigh.
Looey jolted.
His whole body tensed, a sharp breath slipping out before he could stop it.
Sprout pulled his hand back immediately, eyes widening. “Hey—”
He stopped, really looking at him now. The way Looey held himself. The instant reaction. The way he wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“…Looey,” he said, quieter, concern settling deep into his voice. “Did something happen?”
“I’m fine,” Looey answered quickly, but it sounded thinner now, like it barely held together.
Sprout didn’t believe it. Not this time.
His expression shifted, worry more obvious now, brows drawn as he searched Looey’s face. “That didn’t look like ‘fine’.”
Looey shook his head, trying to brush it off, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders.
Sprout hesitated, then spoke more gently. “You don’t have to tell me everything… but don’t lie to me either, okay?”
That made Looey pause.
The words hung there, heavier than anything else that had been said so far.
Sprout stayed where he was, giving him space, but not looking away. “If you’re hurting… I want to know,” he added softly.
Looey’s breath wavered, and for a moment he tried to hold it together, but it slipped anyway. His vision blurred as tears gathered, clinging to his lashes before spilling over.
“…Don’t hate me,” he said, voice breaking, barely louder than a whisper.
Sprout’s expression changed instantly, confusion giving way to something more alarmed. “Hate you? Looey, why would I—”
Looey shook his head, hands trembling slightly as he gripped the fabric of his clothes. He couldn’t seem to get the words out, so instead he just… showed him.
The movement was unsteady, like he was bracing for something worse than pain.
Sprout froze.
For a second, he didn’t speak at all. The concern in his face deepened, not into anger, just, something that hurt to see.
“Hey… hey,” he said quietly, stepping closer but careful, like he didn’t want to startle him again. “I’m not mad at you.”
Looey didn’t look up, shoulders tense, like he was waiting for the reaction anyway.
“I’m not going to hate you,” Sprout continued, voice steady but gentle. “Not for this. Not for anything like that.”
Looey wiped at his face quickly, but more tears kept coming, his chest tightening with each breath.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” he admitted, words slipping out in pieces.
“…Hey,” Sprout said softly, “I get why you’d want something to make it stop. When everything piles up like that, it feels like you just need anything to break it.” He paused, choosing his words. “But this… this kind of coping? It doesn’t actually help you in the long run. It just leaves you hurting more.”
Looey kept his gaze down, shoulders tight, but he was listening.
“It’s serious, Looey,” Sprout continued. “Not because you did something ‘bad’… but because it means you were hurting that much, and you deserve something that actually takes care of you, not something that makes things worse after.”
There was a small silence before Sprout asked, a bit more carefully, “Did you… take care of them? Clean them, I mean?”
Looey hesitated. “…Not really.”
Sprout nodded faintly, not judging. “Okay. That’s okay. It’s important, alright? Even if you’re not feeling great, you still need to look after yourself.” He shifted slightly, tone still warm. “We can clean them properly if you want. I can help.”
Looey didn’t answer right away, but he didn’t pull away either.
Sprout watched him for a moment. “And… maybe we can find other ways too. Stuff that doesn’t leave you like this after.” He gave a small, reassuring smile. “You don’t have to figure that out alone, okay?”
He stepped away then, moving toward one of the kitchen drawers. He opened it, rummaging for a moment before finding what he was looking for, clean cloths, some bandages, a small first aid kit tucked toward the back. He grabbed a few things, checking them quickly, then came back over.
“Here,” he said, setting everything down on the counter within reach. His movements were careful, he didn’t want to overwhelm him. “We can clean them up and cover them, so they don’t get worse.”
Looey glanced at the supplies, then back down again, embarrassed.
“I can help, or… I can just stay here while you do it. Whatever you’re more comfortable with.”
There was a small pause.
“And Looey,” he added, “this doesn’t change how I see you. At all.”
Looey gave Sprout a shy smile; his tail began to twitch, hitting the counter.
“…Can you do it?” he asked quietly, voice a little unsteady. “I—I’m kinda bad at this stuff.”
He let out a small, nervous breath, not quite looking at Sprout. “You’re the healer, right…? I’d probably mess it up.”
Sprout’s expression softened immediately.
“Hey,” he said gently, “you wouldn’t mess it up. But… yeah, I can help.”
He stepped closer again, moving slowly, giving Looey time to pull back if he needed to. When he didn’t, Sprout nodded faintly and started preparing the materials, opening the kit, setting things out in a way that was neat and easy.
“Just tell me if anything hurts too much, okay?”
Looey gave a small nod.
“Alright,” he murmured, more to reassure than anything.
He picked up a clean cloth and dampened it slightly, testing the temperature with his fingers so it wouldn’t be too cold or uncomfortable. Then he paused, glancing at Looey. “I’m gonna clean them a bit, okay? Just tell me if you need me to stop.”
Looey nodded again, gripping the edge of the counter.
Sprout worked slowly, carefully dabbing around the area first, giving Looey a moment to adjust. His touch was light, making sure not to press too hard.
“Doing okay?” he checked.
“…Yeah,” Looey breathed, though his shoulders were still tense.
Sprout nodded and continued, taking his time to clean properly. Once he was done, he reached for a dry cloth and gently patted the area to remove any remaining moisture.
“Okay… next part,” he said, more focused now.
He opened the bandage packaging, careful not to fumble, and prepared it before placing it, so he wouldn’t have to adjust too much once it was on. Then, he positioned it and secured it in place, smoothing it down so it would stay without being too tight.
“There,” he murmured.
He didn’t pull away immediately, checking his work, making sure everything was properly covered. Then he glanced up at Looey again.
“That should help keep it protected,” he gave Looey a warm smile. “We’ll just need to keep it clean, alright?”
Looey’s throat tightened, the words getting stuck somewhere between his chest and his lips. Instead, his breath hitched, and a quiet, broken sound slipped out before he could stop it.
Looey quickly looked down, shoulders trembling slightly as he tried to pull himself together. It didn’t work. The more he tried, the worse it got, small, shaky breaths turning into soft, uncontrollable sobs.
“I—” he tried again, but his voice cracked, dissolving into another shaky exhale.
Sprout didn’t interrupt. He just stayed there, watching him with quiet concern.
Looey brought a hand up to his face, wiping at his eyes quickly, but it was useless. “…C-can I—” he started, voice barely holding together. He swallowed hard, trying again. “Can I have a hug…?”
Sprout didn’t hesitate.
“Oh, Looey,” he said softly, already stepping closer.
He wrapped his arms around Looey carefully, one arm around his shoulders, the other resting lightly against his back, like he was trying to hold him together without hurting him.
Looey leaned into him almost immediately, gripping onto his shirt as the sobs came a little stronger now that he wasn’t holding them back.
Sprout didn’t say much. He just stayed there, one hand moving slowly against Looey’s back in a quiet, comforting rhythm.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured.
Looey clung to him for a bit longer, his breathing uneven at first, then slowly starting to settle. The tightness in his chest eased just enough for him to breathe without it catching every second.
Sprout shifted slightly, still careful, and rested his hand gently on the back of Looey’s head, brushing his hair back in small, soothing motions. “Hey… you’re okay,” he added, voice warm.
Looey let out a small, shaky exhale, still leaning into him, but not crying as hard now.
After a moment, Sprout pulled back just enough to look at him, his expression softer now, still worried, but with something lighter underneath, like he was trying to lift the mood just a little.
“C’mon,” he said gently. “Can’t have you looking this miserable all day.”
Before Looey could react, Sprout reached up, cupping his face carefully between his hands. His touch was warm, and then, without much warning, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to one cheek… then the other.
It was soft, just enough to catch Looey off guard.
Looey blinked, then let out a small, surprised laugh, the sound breaking through the heaviness like something fragile.
“W-what was that?” he mumbled, cheeks flushing almost immediately.
Sprout smiled, a little sheepish but clearly pleased it worked. “Emergency mood boost,” he said lightly.
Looey huffed, still smiling a little despite himself, bringing a hand up to his face like he could hide the blush. “That’s so dumb…”
“Hey, it worked,” Sprout replied, gently nudging him.
Looey shook his head, the tension in his shoulders had eased, and the quiet warmth lingering in his chest felt… different. Lighter.
“…Thanks,” he said softly.
“Hey,” Sprout said, a small smile tugging at his lips, “we’re forgetting something important.”
Looey blinked, still a little flushed. “…What?”
Sprout nodded toward the counter, where the ingredients were still sitting, half-prepared. “I promised to bake you something, remember?”
Looey glanced over, then back at him, a softer expression settling in. “…Oh. Right.”
“Yeah, ‘right,’” Sprout teased gently. “You don’t get out of that just because you got emotional on me.”
Looey huffed quietly, but there was no bite to it. “I didn’t plan that…”
“I know,” Sprout said, tone warm. “But still. You’re staying. I’m finishing what I started.”
He stepped back toward the counter, rolling his sleeves slightly again, slipping back into that focused, familiar rhythm.
“You can supervise,” he added, glancing at Looey. “Make sure I don’t mess it up.”
Looey let out a small breath that almost turned into a laugh, resting his arms on the counter again. “…Pretty sure you won’t.”
Sprout smiled faintly, already reaching for the ingredients again. “Besides, it’s more fun if I’ve got someone supervising me.”
Looey shook his head a little, still warm in the face, but calmer now.
“…Thanks,” he murmured.
Sprout shrugged lightly, but his expression was gentle. “Anytime.”
The day moved on.
And this time, Looey didn’t feel like an idiot anymore.