Chapter Text
He woke up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel it thrumming through his entire body, beating through his ears, his wrists, sending a wave of nausea in him.
Water. He needed water. The thought cut through Looey’s mind, clear even through the blurred remnants of his nightmare.
The suffocating sheets pulled away. The coolness of the floor was welcoming, clearing the haze from his mind.
What was that? What could that dream have possibly been? Looey pondered this as he blinked at the darkness outside of his toon room. It seemed as if the more he walked away from his bed, the foggier the nightmare seemed.
He really hoped he didn't wake anyone up. He never really had the highest stealth.
Looey only remembered one painfully clear part of his nightmare. Blot getting his head popped out in front of him by a twisted. Great. He couldn't even get that memory out of his head in his sleep!
Geez, the trouble he would be in if he were caught at this hour!
It's not like he hasn't seen other toons being killed. He remembers REALLY clearly feeling Yatta’s ichor spray on his face! Which wasn't traumatizing at all!! It's whatever, Dandy would make them come back anyway!
Oh goodness, why couldn't they install a water fountain anywhere up here?
Looey went back and forth in his mind all the way to the elevator connecting Gardenview. Unfortunately, water can only be found in the kitchen, and in that kitchen, Sprout and Cosmo are usually found. It made Looey angsty as he headed to the kitchen doors. He always felt nervous around the duo. They were always so... Clingy with each other. It was hard to get close to them, especially Sprout. As caring as he was, he never seemed close to any other toon he knew.
It was alright. This late in the night, there was no way they would be there!
Looey pushed the kitchen doors open. They creaked under his hand, and he flinched at the noise. The tiles were cold against his feet as he padded to the cupboard, and great! The cups were at the tippy top shelf!
"Golly..." Looey muttered under his breath. He stretched up onto his toes, straining. His arms squeaked from exertion. The glass was just out of reach—then a rustle of fabric behind him made his ears twitch.
"Looey!" Looey felt his ears go down like a guilty dog. Busted!
Sprout stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking like he'd been awake for hours—dark circles under his eyes, his usually crisp leaves slightly wilted. He had his scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, and his frown deepened when he saw Looey teetering on his tiptoes. "What are you doing awake at this hour?"
Looey squeaked—literally—and jerked back from the shelf. His elbow bumped the glass, sending it tumbling. The shatter was deafening in the quiet kitchen, shards skittering across the tiles like ice. "Uh," Looey stammered, ears drooping further. "Why are *you* awake?"
Sprout looked even more annoyed. He sighed and told Looey to back off so he wouldn't pop. Sprout started to pick up the glass shards, fingers careful despite the irritation, causing his leaves to twitch. "Cosmo couldn’t sleep," he muttered. "Kept tossing—said he had a nightmare. That kept me up, too." The way he said it was sharp, but his hands were gentle as he tried his best not to cut himself
Looey hovered awkwardly, fingers twitching. "Oh. Uh—sorry. I didn’t mean to—" His voice cracked. He hated this. Hated how Sprout’s every sentence lately seemed to circle back to Cosmo, how it made his chest tighten like there was a string around him. He didn't know why. "I can help," he offered, too loudly.
Sprout stiffened, then sighed again—this time softer. "No," he said, not unkindly. "As I said before, you'd pop." He picked up the last shard and tossed it into the trash. It felt like something was squirming in Looey's chest. He couldn't place the feeling.
Sprout stood up to full height, his hands on his hips. "Okay, spill it." His tail twitched impatiently. Looey stiffened. "Ummmm... Spill what?" Looey smiled nervously. Sprout sighed. "Why are you awake. It's three am. I already told you why I was awake; now it's your turn."
Looey looked at the floor, his ears lowering further, if that was even possible. "Err, I was just thirsty! Yeah, that's it!" Looey said nervously. He didn't add that he had a nightmare; he didn't want to make Sprout worry about him as he did about Cosmo. Sprout's expression softened slightly. "Come on, you're not telling me the whole truth," He prompted gently. Looey hesitated. "I... I had a nightmare," he said quietly. Sprout nodded his head. "I figured." He managed to reach a glass at the top shelf, filling it with water, and he handed it to Looey.
Sprout sat down next to Looey, and the clown-like toon could feel his face heating up. "Do you want to talk about it?" Sprout asked, his voice surprisingly gentle. Looey shook his head quickly. "No, no, it's fine! I don't want to bother you," he insisted. Sprout frowned slightly. "Looey, I already told you, you're not a waste of anything," he said firmly. Looey blinked, surprised that Sprout remembered that conversation.
Sprout leaned forward, his eyes softening. "Besides, Cosmo's been talking in his sleep. There's no way I'm going back to bed right now," he admitted with a small chuckle. Looey swallowed hard, his fingers twitching nervously around the glass of water. "Oh. Um. Well, it was just... In my nightmare, Blot got attacked by a Twisted," he mumbled, his ears drooping. Sprout's expression darkened. "That's messed up.. Sorry," he muttered. Looey nodded, his throat tightening. "Yeah. It's stupid, I know."
Sprout shifted closer, his scarf brushing against Looey's arm. "It's not stupid. Dreams like that can mess you up," he said quietly. Looey blinked, surprised at the sincerity in his voice. "I just—I keep seeing stuff like that. And I can't stop thinking about it," Looey confessed, his voice cracking. Sprout exhaled sharply through his nose. "I get it," he said after a pause.
"Cosmo's been having nightmares every other night," Sprout continued, staring at the countertop. "Keeps dreaming about Twisted versions of people he cares about. Says they're calling for him, but when he gets close—" He stopped abruptly, his fingers tightening around the edge of his scarf. Looey's chest tightened uncomfortably. Of course Sprout understood—because of Cosmo. Always Cosmo.
The silence stretched between them, thick enough that Looey could hear the faint squeak of his own fingers gripping the glass too hard. Sprout suddenly reached over, tugging Looey's sleeve gently. "You're gonna dent yourself," he muttered, and Looey realized with a start that his forearm was slightly caved in from tension. Sprout's thumb smoothed over the indentation absently, his touch warm despite the late hour. The casual intimacy of it made Looey's breath hitch.
Sprout stood abruptly, clearing his throat. "You should sleep," he said, voice oddly stiff—like he was forcing the words out. Looey nodded too quickly, already scrambling up, nearly tripping over his own legs. He expected Sprout to just wave him off toward the elevator, but instead, Sprout was waiting by the door, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. "Well?" Sprout arched a leafy brow. "Come on, you're faster than this." The jab lacked its usual bite.
The elevator doors slid open with a tired groan. Inside, the mirrored walls reflected Looey's semi-deflated tail, his uneven ears, the way his yellow torso seemed too bright against Sprout's muted greens and reds. He really was a clown. It seemed like his role fit him perfectly.
Sprout leaned against the railing, arms crossed, but his scarf kept slipping off one shoulder, and he kept huffing as he readjusted it. Looey reached out without thinking—"Here, let me—" His fingers brushed Sprout's leaves, and Sprout froze. For a heartbeat, Looey could swear he felt Sprout lean into the touch—then the elevator lurched, and Sprout jerked away like he'd been burned.
The hallway stretched endlessly under the flickering fluorescents. Sprout's footsteps were deliberate, measured, while Looey's squeaked with every other step. He kept stealing glances at Sprout's profile—the way his freckles stood out in the dim light, the tightness in his jaw. He should start up a conversation!
"So," Looey blurted, "Cosmo's nightmares sound... Pretty bad." That was a lie— he didn't even know what Cosmo dreamt about at all. Sprout's shoulders stiffened. "Yeah," he muttered. "Real bad. Poor thing." The words hung between them, leaden.
Looey's fingers twitched at his sides. He could hear Cosmo's voice in his head—that soft, nervous lilt—and suddenly he wanted to pop himself right there. He knew Sprout was thinking about him. Always him. The silence stretched, suffocating, until Sprout abruptly stopped outside Looey's door.
Sprout hesitated, one hand hovering near the knob. His scarf slipped again, revealing a sliver of dark red blush creeping up his neck. Looey swallowed hard. "Uh. Thanks. For the water." Sprout's fingers twitched. "Don't mention it," he said, voice oddly thick. Neither moved.
Then Sprout blurted, "You're *never* a bother." His eyes flicked to Looey's slightly disheveled forearm—where his thumb had smoothed the dent moments ago—then away just as fast. "Talk to me. Any time." The words hung between them, trembling like a soap bubble about to pop. Looey opened his mouth—nothing came out. Just air squeaking through his neck valve.
Sprout exhaled sharply through his nose. "Goodnight, Looey." He turned on his heel before Looey could respond, his scarf flaring behind him like a wounded flag. The hallway swallowed him whole within seconds. Looey stared at the space where Sprout had been, his fingers pressing into his own ribs.
Back in his room, Looey flopped onto his bed with a rubbery squeak. His forearm still tingled where Sprout had touched him. He pressed his cheek against the pillow, replaying the way Sprout's leaves had trembled under his fingers. Outside, he heard the lights buzz—but all Looey heard was Sprout's voice, rough with something he couldn't name: *"Any time."*