Archive of Our Own ^beta

Boxten has always found himself to be an emotional toon, feeling everything in extremes.

He won’t deny anything, won’t claim that this doesn’t cause him issues, sometimes - it does, really, but he copes. He works around it. Besides, he supposes he’d rather feel everything than nothing.

It’s all about the particular extreme you lean into. It's always been black and white for him - all or nothing. Reluctantly, he’s .. okay with this.

Due to this trait of his, it wasn’t rare for him to lose himself in what he was feeling. Like now, storming off after a particularly unpleasant argument (he can’t even recall what it was about, anymore) wasn’t uncharacteristically emotional for him.

Still, despite the tears he can feel threatening to spill over, his first thought is of his friends: are they alright? Was he too harsh? Should he go back and apologize? His nerves feel fried, and he stills by the stairway, hand on the wall.

Boxten squeezes his eyes shut, the key on his head stuttering in its rhythm. Deep breaths, in and out. He needs to regulate himself. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes and he lets out a shaky exhale.

Maybe he should just go. He needs a breather, anyway. His hand slips as his composure falters, and he repositions, grabbing hold of the doorframe to steady himself.

His key clicks, and he perks up - he can hear shouting in the background, and he tightens his grip on the doorframe. What’s happening now -?

“.. you don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

That was Glisten - he wasn’t part of the original argument, but he’d been in the room, spectating curiously. Boxten feels an uncomfortable shudder wash over him, and he takes a step away from the stairwell, preparing himself to intervene with whatever is going on. He’d always been a mediator at heart.

“YOU THINK SO!? AND AREN’T YOU SO SMART, HUH?” 

Shrimpo. Boxten freezes in place, and his head drops with a groan. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d pushed his way into an argument with Shrimpo, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last, either.

“I know my friends better than you, I’d say! Boxy needs his space.”

He pauses.

“HAVE YOU EVER ASKED HIM THAT? IF HE WANTS SPACE? OR DO YOU JUST ASSUME!?”

They were arguing - arguing about him? His face flushed in humiliation, but some part of him was curious, too. What would he overhear, if he kept listening?

“You don’t just storm off if you don’t want space! I doubt you’d know anything about emotional regulation, Shrimpo, dear.” Glisten, eternally antagonistic - Boxten can just picture the look on his face, eyes half-lidded, ever so smug.

Emotional regulation - how terribly ironic! Stepping away from the argument was Boxten’s attempt at regulating himself, keeping the irritation bundled up in his chest before he said something he’d regret. He scoffed.

“WELL MAYBE ONE OF YOU SHOULD BE A GOOD FRIEND AND CHECK ON HIM!” Does Shrimpo have to yell about everything?

Though … he was right. Boxten felt almost nauseous at this revelation - Shrimpo was standing up for him, and he was right. 

Nobody had ever bothered to check on him after an argument, not once, and the more he considered it - the more he began to wish someone would. Sometimes he did need somebody to talk to, and nobody would come. How could Shrimpo possibly know that - possibly be that observant?

“And why would you care about being a good friend - what would you even know about it?” Glisten snaps back.

“I DON’T CARE! I HATE YOU ALL EQUALLY, BUT I AM ALWAYS RIGHT! I CAN PAY ATTENTION!”

Boxten’s stomach churns, and the key on his head resumes its spinning as he thinks. This was curious. This was .. new. For Shrimpo to be observant about anything, or anyone, implied something - that he had the perception to notice little details about someone’s character.

That he understood, at the bare minimum, what made someone good or bad. And yet he chose to be .. like that. Why was that?

He tuned out the argument, stepping into the stairwell, intent on heading up to his room to think. He needed to turn this over in his head for a bit.

Boxten wondered and wondered.

Shrimpo hated feeling anything.

Over the years, he’d completely mastered the art of repressing anything he felt. In fact, it became so commonplace that he’d almost forgotten how anything but irritation (a constant boiling feeling in the pit of his stomach) felt for him.

Perhaps emotions were all just twisted forms of rage, anyway - for him, at least.

The word hate circled through his mind at all hours of the day. He’d say it was his favorite word, but that implied positive connotation, and he certainly didn’t feel any of that.

He always felt like a lit fuse, simmering on the edge at all times. Waiting for an excuse of any kind to explode, to snap at someone, anyone. He’d take anything he could get.

Still, after his little argument with that stupid mirror, he’d been receiving weird looks - weirder than usual, anyway. He was perceptive. His surroundings were never lost on him - he was constantly aware and alert, listening intently. The more he knew, the better he could be a jerk, after all.

Shrimpo could hear the teasing comments made by the others, an afterthought at best from each of them. They weren’t like him, they didn’t go digging for rude things to say. Somehow, that made it worse.

He was prone to getting overwhelmed.

Perhaps rage was his own messed-up coping mechanism. He wasn’t sure. What would he need to cope with, anyway? Burning hatred? Ha!

Still, his skin felt like it was crawling with something, an itch just under the collar of his dress. He twists the edge of the fabric in his hands, grip firm and unyielding, the smallest vent of frustration.

Sitting alone in the stairwell was less than ideal. It wasn’t private (not that his room really was, either - it didn’t even have a door) in the slightest, but he could feel his patience thinning. Despite his constant anger, he tried to tame it - he never wanted to truly physically harm anyone, but sometimes it’d all be far too overwhelming.

Shrimpo couldn’t see the ground in front of him. Everything was blurred, and he blinked in quick succession, tears threatening to spill over. Why were his eyes watering? What did he have to cry about?

He chewed on his lower lip instead, applying too much force and sending a spike of pain through his mouth. He shuddered.

Something clicked in the background, and he tensed, a new sound washing over him.

What idiot had put a speaker in the stairwell? Who needed to hear Clair de Lune while stomping up three flights of stairs? Nevermind that it was a music box - that was even worse! Who plays a music box over the speakers?

Frustrated, he drops his head into his hands, muffling his own irritated shout. He just wanted to throw something, anything, but there wasn’t a single goddamn item in the stupid empty stairwell.

Shrimpo nearly leapt out of his skin at the sound of feet shuffling against the concrete, hands pulling away from his face to clench defensively into fists. He looks up, and the tension is alleviated ever-so-slightly at the sight of Boxten, peering down at him.

The key on his head is spinning, Shrimpo notices - that’s where the lullaby was coming from. He huffs.

“What’s the matter with you?” Boxten tilts his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Shrimpo blinks. “You look upset. Are you alright?”

A different feeling washes over him, one he’s not familiar with, and he furrows his brow, confusion evident on his face. Something about this seems amusing to Boxten, a smile tugging at his mouth.

“What - .. yes?” Shrimpo frowns. He feels vulnerable, and he hikes his shoulders up before quickly snapping a retort in addition: “What are you, stupid? Shrimpo is always fine!”

Boxten shrugs, moving to sit down on the steps beside Shrimpo. There’s a healthy distance between them, but he doesn’t seem uncomfortable - doesn’t shy away at all like Shrimpo expected him to.

“You don’t seem fine,” Boxten says matter-of-factly, the eternal hum of Clair de Lune stuttering in its rhythm as he shifts in place.

Shrimpo turns his gaze pointedly towards the ground, tail curling around his feet, antennae twitching absently. “Well, what would you know about me?”

The sound of the music box echoes in the stairwell, bouncing around in his skull and settling the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. It’s something else - not irritation, not rage, but .. something calm. He doesn’t like it, and he finds himself gritting his teeth.

“N-Nothing, but .. I guess I was just wondering.” 

There’s the telltale stutter, one Shrimpo has come to associate with Boxten. In the past, it used to get on his nerves and send his bubbling anger over the edge. At this moment, though, with so many thoughts running through his head, he doesn’t have the energy to make a remark.

“Well, stop wondering,” he hisses, rising to his feet. Shrimpo ignores the way he nearly stumbles, the pounding in his head, and the way Boxten looks at him - something akin to curiosity. He doesn’t seem deterred.

Shrimpo dislikes that.

Shrimpo’s coping mechanisms may seem less than ideal, but he personally thinks they work just fine, thank you very much.

Pacing and kicking boxes and empty airhorn cans around his junkyard of a room worked. It was repetitive and boring, but he couldn’t keep punching holes in his walls - he’d get caught and get in trouble sooner or later, even if some part of him suspected the higher-ups wouldn’t .. care. It was his room to trash, after all.

He glanced around - holes in the walls, discarded trash littering the floors, and his singular bed and wardrobe. His room was hardly a room at all, and his shoulders slumped. Always doomed to be least important; though he was the bully, so what else could he expect?

Nothing more than this, that’s for sure.

Still, Shrimpo felt tense and uncomfortable, and he dug his nails into his palms, tail curling. He was itching to do something, to start screaming, but there wasn’t a door for his room and he couldn’t just vent his frustrations out for anyone to hear.

Besides, yelling at someone had proven in the past to be more beneficial for himself. He wouldn’t necessarily say he liked seeing them upset, but that little bit of control (which he lacked in every other aspect of his life, really) made him feel a bit better.

In fact, he was almost positive that it’d alleviate at least some of the tension coiling in his body. He stormed out of his room, shoulder bumping the doorway as he went, and he gritted his teeth in a brief reaction to the pain - but ultimately, as with most other feelings, it was dismissed.

He needed to yell at somebody. Anybody.

Shrimpo’s gaze trailed across the hallway, the lights beneath most doors dark. Another privilege the others had that he lacked. Bitterly, his attention fell on the door right across the hallway (diagonally, but regardless) from his own. Whose room was that, again? Could he be bothered to care?

Stomping across the hall, not particularly caring who he woke up, he paused in front of the door. There was a moment of hesitation where his hand hovered over the doorknob, and he shifted his weight around, suddenly strikingly uncomfortable. He felt vulnerable.

Whatever. Shrimpo dismissed it.

He didn’t allow himself another moment to hesitate, grabbing the doorknob and twisting it with enough force to leave a bruise, slamming the door open and against the wall. 

His eyes darted around the room, examining it curiously - purple walls, unorganized bookshelves, and a .. very terrified looking Boxten. Shrimpo’s antennae twitched.

“Shrimpo!” Boxten stammered, the book he had been reading pressed close to his chest. The key on his head was still, and the room was jarringly quiet without the music he usually played. “What -”

“Shut up!” Shrimpo declared, hands moving to his hips, and he lifted his chin in an attempt to seem better (seem? He was.) “What are you doing!?”

Boxten flinched, and the key on his head wound up as he lowered the book into his lap. He quirked a brow, giving Shrimpo an odd look.

Shrimpo quickly cut him off before he could even attempt to speak. “Oh, wait, I don’t care! I don’t care about you or your stupid book!”

His gaze trailed around the room, and he felt a bit of the fight go out of him. Was this really what the other toons rooms were like? This place was fully furnished, with things Boxten could actually entertain himself with.

A different feeling: jealousy.

“Your room is stupid! Too much stuff!” He decided, crossing his arms, ever so stubborn. “What do you do with all of this, anyway!?”

Boxten didn’t say anything, just stared, and he almost looked curious. Shrimpo felt like he was being picked apart, and his tail began to lash.

“I don’t - I don’t care!” He threw his hands up, and to his dismay they were trembling. He redirected his attention to the floor, and he felt the fight dissipate from his chest. His shoulders sagged, and he exhaled shakily.

Boxten was silent. So was Shrimpo. The door swung closed - on its own, somehow - which made Shrimpo jump.

“Do you feel better?” Boxten asked, completely out of left field.

Shrimpo snapped his head up, an incredulous look on his face. What kind of question was that? Of course he felt better! Yelling at someone always made him feel better!

.. So why did he feel so .. strange?

His knees felt weak, and he eased himself onto the floor, blinking. He crossed his legs, moving his hands into his lap to lace his fingers together. His antennae curled, and his tail draped itself around his legs.

“I .. I’m not sure,” he whispered.

Boxten’s key started to turn again, an indicator he was thinking, maybe. He set the book down on the mattress beside him, forgotten in the moment. Shrimpo felt .. vulnerable. He hated it. He hated it.

He looked up, searching Boxten’s expression for any sign of .. something. Maybe he was being condescending. Mocking Shrimpo, even. But, no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t find anything but genuine sincerity.

Boxten shifted, resting his elbows on his knees, holding his head up as he peered at Shrimpo.

“You should try baking.” 

Shrimpo’s eyebrows raised, and he stuttered out a reply: “Baking is .. stupid!”

Something about this pulled a giggle out of Boxten, and something twisted in Shrimpo’s stomach. To hear someone laugh - not at him, but because of him - was new. It made him feel .. something. Something besides anger.

He wasn’t sure how to feel.

“Maybe you think so,” Boxten hummed, smiling at him ( at him? Was he insane?), “but it sounds like you need a distraction.”

Distraction? From what? Shrimpo scoffed at the implications, shaking his head hurriedly. No, he didn’t need any distractions, that’s for sure. He was handling things fine enough on his own, and he said as much:

“I don’t need any distractions! Shrimpo handles everything fine as is.”

Boxten moved to drum his fingers on his knee, a stuttering rhythm that matched the notes he produced. The key spun quickly for a moment before resuming its slower pace. “I never suggested you don’t know how to handle things.”

Shrimpo sputtered, deciding to make a rather rude gesture in Boxten’s direction. Still, he felt something else curling in his chest, and he busied himself with the hem of his dress, twirling it between his fingers.

“Well, never suggest it! I’m the best!”

Boxten tilted his head, and his music picked up the pace.

“You need to stop overworking yourself, Boxten!”

Boxten frowned, chewing on his lower lip as he examined the .. attempt .. at brownies. They looked a little burnt, the edges charred and black, but at least they were (probably) still edible. As much as he wanted to beat himself up about it, he was pretty satisfied.

“I don’t know ..” He sheepishly murmured, key stuttering, “I think I could’ve done better!”

Cosmo smiled, gently nudging Boxten with his elbow. “Hey, it’s not so bad .. I think you did great.”

“I .. I appreciate the enthusiasm,” Boxten giggled, shaking his head. He eased the tray onto the counter, shifting his hands behind his back. He considered for a moment bringing some of the brownies up to the toon rooms - he was sure Goob and Scraps would love some, however burnt they may be …

Cosmo eyed the brownies himself for a moment before curiously glancing at Boxten. “Would you mind if I tried one?”

Boxten’s eyes widened, and he hastily shook his head. “N-No, not at all! They are made to be eaten, right ..?”

“Well, yeah!” Cosmo laughed, lifting a brownie off the tray. He turned it over in his hands, and Boxten nervously smiled. “All food is, silly.”

He watched as Cosmo took a bite, trying to decipher his expression. It shifted between various incomprehensible looks before settling on an obviously forced smile. Bless Cosmo’s heart. Boxten sighed.

“It’s .. not bad!” Cosmo smiled, thin-lipped and awkward. 

Boxten shook his head, lifting the tray off the counter again. “It’s okay, Cosmo. I’m going to see if the craft siblings would like any of these.”

Cosmo nodded excitedly, placing a hand on Boxten’s shoulder and gently rubbing it with his thumb. It was a small but sweet gesture, and Boxten smiled at him, genuinely.

He stepped back from the counter, balancing the tray of brownies in his hands. He dipped his head, the best goodbye he could give, and Cosmo waved him out (embarrassingly hurriedly, but hey, could Boxten really blame him?) and on his way.

As much as he wanted to take the elevator, the trips still made his stomach churn, and he didn’t want to risk dropping these brownies, even if they weren’t .. great. He’d worked hard on them!

So, the stairwell it is.

He eased the door open with his foot, maneuvering through the doorway and bumping it closed again with his hip. He glanced up the narrow flights of stairs, lips curling in distaste. The elevator was starting to sound a bit better, now …

Determined, he started up the stairwell, unable to reach for the railing to steady himself on some of the rickety, older steps. His key spun steadily, and he focused completely on where he was placing his feet, not looking up or ahead of him.

Boxten rounded the corner, about to head up the next flight of stairs when he jerked, tray crashing into something. He gasped, nearly falling over in his hurried attempt to steady himself (and the tray), and a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders, holding him firmly in place.

He blinked. Shrimpo blinked back at him.

Quickly, Shrimpo yanked his hands away, shooting Boxten a sour glare. 

“WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING!” He snapped, and Boxten sighed.

Sheepishly, he murmured an apology: “I-I’m sorry, Shrimpo .. I was trying not to trip.”

Shrimpo huffed, gaze drifting down to the brownies. His look of irritation dissipated, replaced with a look of curiosity, and Boxten tilted his head. Hesitantly, he smiled, holding the tray out to Shrimpo.

“Want one?” He asked, and Shrimpo glanced up, meeting his gaze.

“Huh?” Shrimpo nearly whispered, antennae curling. Boxten studied his expression, searching it for .. something. Shrimpo seemed taken aback. “I .. sure.”

Shrimpo plucked a brownie off the tray - one of the corner pieces, Boxten noted - and took a bite. Boxten braced himself, preparing for the insult that was sure to come. He knew the brownies weren’t great, and he expected Shrimpo would certainly have something to say about it.

To his surprise, the harsh reply never came - instead, Shrimpo’s eyes lit up, an odd look on him. He seemed .. genuinely happy. Boxten’s music stuttered, and he glanced away, suddenly embarrassed.

“THIS IS GOOD!” Shrimpo shouted, never an enthusiast of volume control. “... THANK YOU!”

Boxten blinked in surprise. He was thanking him? In the last few days, he’d seen some new sides to Shrimpo, but this was unheard of. It further enforced the idea he’d been developing in his head - that there was more to Shrimpo than the others thought.

He smiled at the idea, glancing at Shrimpo again. He shifted, tapping his foot against the ground. “Really? It’s .. a bit burnt.”

Shrimpo quickly finished his brownie, licking his lips clean afterwards. Boxten stared for a moment, quickly redirecting his attention to the tray in his hands. Still plenty left for Goob and Scraps.

“I LIKE IT BURNT!” Shrimpo grimaced (the closest thing he could bear to a smile, perhaps), flicking Boxten’s forehead. His music halted immediately, key stilling, before it slowly started up again. Record scratch. “TASTES BETTER!”

Boxten tilted his head. Curious, curious. “O-Oh. I’ve never seen anyone prefer it burnt.”

Shrimpo scoffed, proudly crossing his arms, tail swishing back and forth, a gesture Boxten desperately wanted to understand. “WELL, EVERYONE ELSE IS WRONG! SHRIMPO’S TASTE IS BEST!”

Boxten laughed, not noticing how the sound made Shrimpo hurriedly turn away.

“You can take another, if you’d like .. I doubt anybody else will want any.” 

“ARE YOU SURE?” Shrimpo was still yelling, somehow, and Boxten shuddered. “GOOB AND SCRAPS LIKE BROWNIES!”

There it was again - a small detail that not many others noticed .. and yet Shrimpo knew. Boxten wondered if any of the others had ever taken a moment to have a conversation with him - if anybody else knew this. Being the first to find out pleased him.

“Well, there will still be more than enough for them. Go ahead, really.” Boxten smiled.

Shrimpo shrugged dismissively, plucking another brownie off the tray (another one of the corner pieces. Boxten wondered if those were his favorite.) and popping it in his mouth, holding it between his teeth.

He said something - though it was muffled, of course - shouldering past Boxten. He almost caught a hint of a smile in Shrimpo’s eyes - just barely. It was a start.

Boxten watched as he hurried down the steps, the stairwell settling into silence again. He adjusted the tray in his hands, music slowing as he wondered.

For as long as he could remember, Boxten had been plagued by nightmares.

He’d gone through many sleepless nights - this wasn’t new to him. He’d shyly spoken to Astro about it before, but it’d never gone anywhere. No matter how many times Astro insisted he wasn’t giving Boxten nightmares, the awful dreams still persisted.

Astro didn’t seem to be able to fix it, either, so he often found himself outside his room during the night.

Sprawled out on the couch now, he watched through half-lidded eyes as colors danced across the TV screen. The commons area was empty, couches and cushions abandoned as the toons blissfully slept the night away in their rooms. It was just him out here.

It usually was, anyway. He was often forgotten.

He squinted, trying to make out the cartoon playing on the TV. It was a rerun of an older episode, he knew that much, but he still couldn’t decipher anything specific. He was so tired …

He heard a door close in the distance, and he flinched, weakly lifting his head off the back of the couch to look around. He couldn’t see anything, of course - it was too dark beyond the light of the TV, but he still felt obligated to check. Had somebody else been woken up by the TV?

Boxten recoiled, guilt settling into his chest. He fumbled for the remote, turning the TV off with a click, watching as the room was bathed in shadow. He sat there, completely still and silent, stiff as a board.

“What are you doing?” 

Boxten felt like he’d leapt a foot into the air, and he grabbed hold of the cushions in alarm. He looked around, unable to see much in the darkness beyond the vague silhouette of someone standing beside the couch.

“W-Watching .. TV,” Boxten mumbled, leaning back to ease his nerves.

“The TV is off, idiot.”

Ah.

Boxten sighed, reaching a hand up to rub at his eyes. He felt a weight join him on the couch, and he turned to look at Shrimpo. He couldn’t see much in the darkness, but he could feel Shrimpo’s eyes on him.

“Yeah, um, I know. I didn’t want to wake anybody up.”

Shrimpo scoffed. “A bit late for that. I’m awake.”

Boxten sighed, pulling his legs onto the couch and hugging his knees to his chest. Exhausted. “Sorry.”

“Don’t .. apologize,” Shrimpo said, hesitantly, reaching a hand out to poke Boxten in the ribs. He jolted in surprise - it didn’t hurt, but it still startled him. “I was already awake.”

Boxten was .. shocked. This was the calmest he’d ever heard Shrimpo, voice quiet and gentle. It felt foreign and strange, and he wondered if anybody else had heard him speak like this. He bit his lower lip, key clicking as it started to nervously turn.

“You play music a lot. Why?” The question was demanding, but genuine.

“A-Ah, um .. well, it’s just .. a part of me, I guess? It’s as normal to me as breathing is to you. I can’t really control it much.” Boxten had never been asked about his music, aside from the occasional curious question from children. Usually, he was just asked to turn it off.

Shrimpo didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Boxten’s eyes fluttered shut. He leaned against the back of the couch again, slouching. He could feel himself teetering on the edge of sleep, and he wished blissful unconsciousness would take him already.

“It’s cool,” Shrimpo finally whispered, jolting Boxten out of his relaxation. Boxten squinted, music stuttering. He could feel his face heating up - it was rare for him to be complimented at all, and for Shrimpo to do it?

“.. Thank you?” Boxten hesitantly said.

Shrimpo scoffed, lifting a hand to tap the side of Boxten’s head. He shuddered, tilting it in confusion, peering at Shrimpo through the shadows. He wished he could make out an expression, if there was even one to be seen.

“Why are you awake?” Shrimpo asked, ever one to pry. Boxten looked away.

Was there any point in lying? He supposed not.

“Nightmares.”

Shrimpo hummed, shifting a bit closer to Boxten, which surprised him. Maybe it was the late-night fatigue. Maybe he was cold. Boxten chose not to think about it too much.

“Me too. I don’t think Astro likes me.” Shrimpo poked Boxten again, his hand being swatted away immediately after, though there wasn’t much venom to it. 

“Does anybody?” Boxten asked, and it came out harsher than he meant it to. He wilted, watching as Shrimpo recoiled from the comment, and he rushed to apologize. “Ah, I’m .. sorry.”

Shrimpo grumbled something under his breath - an insult, probably. Boxten figured he deserved it. His head fell back again, key digging into the back of the couch. It was slightly uncomfortable, but he had nowhere else to put his head.

“My bed isn’t very comfy, either,” Shrimpo confessed, and Boxten opened an eye, curious. He hadn’t ever been inside of Shrimpo’s room (had anybody, actually?) and he’d never seen it, either. He wouldn’t be surprised if his bed was damaged.

“Ah,” Boxten hummed, “you can always sleep on the couch out here. I doubt the others would mind.”

Shrimpo doesn’t say anything in reply, and in the silence Boxten finds himself drifting off again. He shifts his weight slightly, head falling to the side - bumping into something, which jerks him awake ever so slightly.

He glances up at Shrimpo, instantly scooting away in embarrassment. What was wrong with him? Couldn’t he hold himself awake for just a minute? Humiliating!

Shrimpo was still and quiet, not saying anything rude about what just transpired, much to Boxten’s relief. Then, suddenly, he reached a hand out, pulling Boxten closer to him with a surprising amount of care.

Boxten blinked, music stuttering and speeding up, something that happened sometimes when he was embarrassed. He didn’t protest, though, allowing himself to snuggle into Shrimpo’s side. He was too tired to care much.

Shrimpo hummed along with the tune of Boxten’s music, managing to stay on-key startlingly well. Some part of Boxten dimly found it endearing, and his eyes fluttered shut again. He was so tired …

Shrimpo cautiously draped an arm around Boxten, and the warmth lulled him the rest of the way into sleep.

They wouldn’t talk about it.

Shrimpo had found himself becoming strangely defensive over Boxten.

As attentive to detail as he was, he’d never noticed just how differently Boxten’s “friends” treated him in comparison to how they treated everyone else. In just the last few days, Shrimpo had made countless observations that completely contradicted everyone’s belief of how Boxten acts.

It made him think back to nearly a week ago, when he’d started that argument with Glisten. He hadn’t truly cared, he just wanted an excuse to yell at someone, but the more he thought about it - the more he wondered if maybe, just maybe, there’d been some basis to what he was saying.

The mind notices a lot of things subconsciously. Maybe that’s what it was.

Either way, this left Shrimpo constantly feeling something he was familiar with - irritation. He always found himself irritated by everyone, but a mere mention of Boxten’s name now caught his attention better than anything else could. Why was that?

Whatever.

He’d taken some of Boxten’s advice and was attempting to learn how to bake. He’d dismissed it originally, but after trying the brownies Boxten had made, his curiosity had won out. The kitchen was chaotic and messy, and Shrimpo didn’t particularly like it.

Still, he found himself leaning over a recipe book, measuring ingredients with an amount of care and precision he was unfamiliar with. He wasn’t sure who he was baking for .. himself, probably. He managed everything for himself on his own.

Shrimpo’s antennae twitched, and he tuned into the conversation being held by the tables, purely out of curiosity. He was nosy .. he learned a lot this way, though. Knew how to use it to his advantage. He huffed, listening.

“Are you sure? I mean …” Poppy’s voice trailed off, and Shrimpo’s hands stilled where they held the pages of the recipe book. “I can’t imagine why Boxten would care.”

“That’s what I thought,” Brightney agreed, and Shrimpo’s tail curled. “I mean .. Shrimpo? Really?”

He turned the page, vision narrowing to a pinprick in front of him. Two tablespoons butter …

“I find it hard to believe that Shrimpo was being nice. Boxten might have just been sleep deprived, you know? I mean - I trust him! He’s my best friend! But …” 

Brightney scoffed, and Shrimpo felt his patience thinning like the unattended batter of the cake beside him. He swallowed down a lump in his throat, trying to keep his composure. He wasn’t sure why he cared .. usually he would have started yelling at them by this point, but some part of him wanted to remain quiet.

“All evidence suggests Shrimpo is a certified bully, Poppy. He’s meant to be. Why would he be anything else?”

The conversation was going on far too long for him, now, and Shrimpo slammed the book shut. The sound immediately ceased the conversation between Poppy and Brightney, who both nervously glanced in his direction.

“WOULD YOU TWO SHUT UP?” He hollered, gesturing vaguely in their direction. “I can hear you, you know!”

Poppy’s lip curled in distaste, and she looked away. Brightney rolled her eyes, adjusting her glasses as she raised an eyebrow at Shrimpo. It was .. condescending. Shrimpo could feel rage boiling in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t felt this angry in .. days. What was wrong with him?

He pulled the book off the counter - it was heavy, countless pages of recipes bound within - and threw it. It crashed onto the table Brightney and Poppy were seated at, thankfully not hitting either of them (he hated that he was relieved) but they both jumped regardless.

Brightney scrambled out of her seat, and Poppy scooted her chair back, appalled.

“Proving my point …” Brightney sighed, fixing the scattered papers and pushing the recipe book aside. Shrimpo seethed silently, hands balling into fists at his sides. “Why, oh why, am I not surprised?”

He clenched and unclenched his fists, gritting his teeth. He felt like he was going to grind his jaw into his skull, and he exhaled slowly. He raised a hand, shooting the pair a rude gesture, which Poppy returned in kind.

His gaze trailed towards the unfinished cake batter, and he recoiled as he realized he’d have to shamefully go get the recipe book again. His pride felt wounded, and he dug through his memory to try and recall what he needed last.

Was it two - no, three ..? Tablespoons or teaspoons ..? 

All the terms blended together in his head, and he spun around, giving the counter a kick. It spent a spike of pain up his leg, which he chose to ignore. Brightney watched, unamused, and mumbled something to Poppy that Shrimpo couldn’t quite make out.

“I thought I told you to shut up!?” Shrimpo snapped, grabbing hold of the counter to steady himself. He squeezed his eyes shut. So much for coping.

“Why should we listen to you?” Poppy laughed - at him, not because of him - and Shrimpo gripped the edge of the counter until his knuckles were white.

He was about to snap back another remark when he heard the soft chime of music. It was jarringly peaceful among the tense atmosphere, and Shrimpo’s antennae perked up. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but some part of him wanted to see Boxten.

“Um … what’s going on? You two look like you’re about to start shouting,” Boxten mumbled nervously, pausing next to Brightney and Poppy.

Shrimpo turned, staring at the three - he sneered, folding his arms across his chest. His tail lashed behind him in irritation, and he dug his nails into his skin.

“Shrimpo is being a jerk,” Poppy huffed, and Shrimpo bit back a retort. Some part of him wanted to remain composed around Boxten. Why was that?

Boxten glanced towards Shrimpo, and he felt his face heat up in .. shame? What was it he was feeling? He glanced away, looking at the cake batter left unattended. Some part of him wilted - he was really hoping to do something good, for once.

“O-Oh, I’m sure he didn’t mean it …” Boxten started, but Brightney cut him off immediately.

“This is what I mean!” She threw her hands up, exasperated, and Shrimpo bit his tongue. “You’re defending him all the time now! He’s nothing but a bully, Boxten, you know this!”

Shrimpo wanted to argue that he had complexities, that there was more to him than that, but he knew it’d fall on deaf ears. Nobody really seemed to care about that part of him, and it was all he allowed himself to be, anyway. Why be something you know you’re not? He scoffed.

“Well, I -” 

Poppy clicked her tongue, tilting her head at Boxten, something akin to sympathy in her eyes. “Brightney’s right, Boxy. You can’t keep defending him like this, he’s .. Shrimpo.”

“I’m right here!” He finally snapped, and the three turned to look at him. He searched Boxten’s expression for something, anything (what was he looking for?), but it was unreadable. His music was quieter now, perhaps a sign of uncertainty.

“Guys -” Boxten started, but he was cut off yet again. Shrimpo’s eye twitched.

“Just listen to us for once, Boxten. For your own good. Please.” Brightney placed a hand on his shoulder, which made Boxten flinch.

Shrimpo felt like he was going to explode. 

“Yeah. Listen to us, would you?” Poppy smiled, and that was the end of Shrimpo’s patience.

“How about you two listen to him? ” Shrimpo shouted, and Poppy jumped, bow bouncing as she whipped her head around to look at him. “You’ve cut him off twice now! Let him speak, for fuck’s sake!”

“Shrimpo!” Brightney hissed, lightbulb flickering, something it did sometimes when she was irritated. “Watch your mouth!”

“Watch yours, ya stupid excuse for a lightbulb!” Shrimpo snarled, and Boxten buried his head in his hands.

Poppy was about to bite back with something, Shrimpo could tell, but Boxten silenced all of them: “All of you, shut up!”

Brightney’s mouth fell open, and some part of Shrimpo felt delighted by that. He smirked, victory tantalizingly close. “Yeah, Brightney, shut up!”

Boxten’s attention snapped to Shrimpo, a venomous look in his eyes, and Shrimpo’s smirk fell. “‘All of you’ includes you, Shrimpo!”

He looked away, shame pooling in the pit of his stomach. Why did he feel like that? Why did he even care? Shame, over this? What was wrong with him?

Boxten let out a shaky sigh, music stuttering and falling silent. Shrimpo drummed his fingers on the counter, chewing on the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to fidget even more. Some part of him felt nervous. So many feelings, and he had no idea how to handle any of it.

He picked the recipe book up off the table, approaching Shrimpo without fear (much to Poppy and Brightney’s surprise, after his outburst) and holding it out. Shrimpo didn’t move for a second.

“Take it,” He said through gritted teeth, and Shrimpo obeyed, pulling the recipe book from his hands. The weight was comforting, in a way, but he still felt anxious.

Boxten stormed off, muttering under his breath as he left: “just wanted to relax .. awful, all of you .. can’t a toon have some peace and quiet …”

Brightney frowned, watching as he left. As he expected, neither of them followed. Shrimpo scoffed - of course everyone still believed Boxten had no interest in comfort. Past occasion indicated otherwise, mostly from his own observation.

He let the book fall onto the counter, flipping through the pages again. Two tablespoons butter.

Boxten’s hand blindly fumbled through the darkness, searching for the light switch.

The moment his palm trailed over the switch, he flicked it up, his room immediately being illuminated in light. He rubbed at his eyes, awkwardly tugging at the collar of his sleep shirt. Once again, not a wink of sleep.

Couldn’t he catch a break ..? Just once?

That afternoon had been stressful enough already. He hated watching his friends argue (could he call Shrimpo his friend?) and he especially hated when they spoke over him .. though he was used to it by now.

Part of him felt guilty for snapping at all of them, but he’d lost his temper. Shrimpo especially, who’d only been trying to defend him … Boxten swallowed, letting his forehead drop against the wall.

He felt like he messed everything up.

Hesitantly, he turned the doorknob, pulling the door inwards and peering out into the hallway. It was dark, and no other lights were on beneath the doors. He fidgeted nervously, glancing to the left - light from the TV stretched dimly across the floor, and he tilted his head.

Who would be up at this hour - besides himself, of course - watching TV of all things? He squinted, taking a cautious step into the hallway.

He left the door to his room open, tiptoeing across the carpet, the TV a hazy blur in the distance. He stopped by the armrest of the couch, glancing down.

Shrimpo looked up at him from where he was sprawled out on the cushions. He quirked a brow, tilting his head as he examined Boxten. Of course.

“Hi,” Boxten mumbled, a nervous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What are you doing on the couch?”

Shrimpo’s eyes fluttered shut, and he folded his arms behind his head, kicking a leg up. Boxten let his elbows drop against the armrest besides Shrimpo’s head, head propped up on his palms. 

“You suggested it,” Shrimpo hissed under his breath, tone bitter, and Boxten frowned. “What are you doing awake?”

Boxten pulled back, reaching a hand down to poke Shrimpo’s forehead, silent retaliation for a few nights ago. Shrimpo opened an eye, peering up at him. 

He shrugged. “Can’t sleep. What else?”

Shrimpo closed his eye again, humming in acknowledgement. It was a strangely soft side to him that Boxten hadn’t known of until recently. He wondered if it had to do with sleep deprivation, or if it was because he was the only one here to witness it.

Shrimpo shifted, moving a hand to pat the cushion beside him. Boxten blinked, hesitantly obeying and moving to sit. Shrimpo sat up, making room for Boxten to sit where he’d been laying a moment ago, before letting himself fall back against Boxten’s side.

Boxten squeaked in surprise, key clicking and churning, spilling out a few broken notes. Shrimpo adjusted himself, seemingly attempting to get comfortable.

“Um,” Boxten mumbled, nudging Shrimpo with his shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Shut up, I’m tired,” Shrimpo grumbled, and Boxten stifled a laugh. That was more like Shrimpo. Still, his gaze trailed off into the shadows, and he couldn’t help but think.

He wondered .. if the others gave Shrimpo a chance, would they hate him so much? Did Shrimpo behave so rudely because he wanted to, or because the others never let him be anything else?

Boxten was .. familiar with it, to an extent. The others acted like they knew him, but there was so much left unexplored. So much he had to hide, because every time he tried to show it the others denied he could ever behave in such a way.

Years worth of repressing his own feelings, his own irritation, his own sadness - just for the sake of those who couldn’t stomach complexity. 

He wondered if they could ever grow enough to let Shrimpo be anything other than a bully.

Shrimpo wanted to be better.

This was a new feeling. He felt almost nauseated by this revelation, and had spent almost an hour pacing back and forth in his room over it. Kick box, pace, kick airhorn can, repeat. He tried to ignore it, tried to refuse it, but .. he couldn’t really.

He wanted to be better. But … how does somebody just do that? 

That was the part he was lost on. He’d tried baking, and it was .. a start. His desire to perfect any recipe he tried overwhelmed any irritation he could possibly feel, even if he wasn’t the best baker. He’d made a habit of sneaking into the kitchen when he couldn’t sleep (which was often, now. Why?) to try something new.

He stilled, glancing towards his desk, where a small box sat unattended. There were brownies in there - attempted brownies, anyway. Slightly burned, just how he liked them, but they weren’t for him. 

Come to think of it, Shrimpo should probably take care of that before they dried out. Could brownies dry out in a sealed box?

Ceasing his pacing, he approached his desk, gingerly lifting the box into his hands. He stepped out of his room, heading down the hall and past the other toon rooms. He paused by the elevator, considering it.

.. No, he’d rather take the stairs.

With some struggle, he pushed the door to the stairwell open with the tip of his foot. He didn’t bother to close the door behind him, not particularly caring if it was open or not. Somebody else would close it later, probably.

His tail swung behind him as he headed down the stairs, taking each step carefully.

Boxten was usually in the commons area around this hour … at least, Shrimpo was pretty sure he was. Details were never lost on him, but sometimes things switched up. He’d find him eventually.

Then, he heard it: faint music echoing from the bottom of the stairwell.

Excitement bubbled in his stomach, which he quickly repressed, speeding up his pace as he headed down the stairs. The box swayed in his hands, unsteady, and he silently hoped the brownies were still intact. 

He slowed at the last few steps, about to call out, but something made him pause.

Boxten was sitting at the base of the stairs, head buried in his knees, sniffling. Something in Shrimpo’s stomach twisted, and he felt like his heart was going to constrict. Why did he feel this way?

He cautiously headed down the last few steps, easing himself onto the ground next to Boxten. He set the box of brownies down next to him, glancing at the ground.

Boxten let out a muffled sob, and Shrimpo hesitantly tapped his shoulder. 

He looked up, eyes widening when he saw Shrimpo, and he hurriedly went to brush his tears away. Shrimpo’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist, and Boxten stilled. 

He averted his gaze, speaking quietly and hesitantly: “.. What’s wrong?”

Shrimpo released Boxten’s wrist, watching as his hand fell into his lap. Boxten glanced down at his own hands, linking his fingers together, his music slow and unsteady. Shrimpo’s tail curled around his feet.

“I-I don’t ..” Boxten sniffled, “I just wish the others would listen to me.”

Shrimpo dipped his head, glancing down at the box of brownies. He considered it, but silently decided to wait just a bit longer. He didn’t want to interrupt, so he instead chose to cautiously drape an arm over Boxten’s shoulder, pulling him snug against his chest.

Boxten let out another sob, burying his face in Shrimpo’s dress. He felt his face heat up, an unfamiliar feeling washing over him.

“I don’t .. I-I just .. they always talk over me, and -” Boxten choked, falling silent for a moment. Shrimpo wasn’t sure how to handle this, but he .. wanted to help, somehow.

“They’re dumb,” He said, tilting his head. Boxten pulled his head back, staring up at Shrimpo with a look of bewilderment on his face.

He looked so ridiculous in that moment that Shrimpo couldn’t help it - he laughed, genuinely, hand coming up to cover his mouth. Boxten blinked in surprise, mouth falling open.

Shrimpo giggled again, just for a moment, before looking away. He couldn’t handle the way Boxten was staring at him - awestruck, almost. It wasn’t .. a look that he usually received, and it felt a bit overwhelming.

His gaze fell on the box again, and he grabbed hold of it, hesitantly offering it to Boxten.

“.. Here. I made these. For you.” He kept his head low, feeling awkward.

Boxten’s music picked up, sounding a bit more optimistic as he lifted the lid of the box. His eyes lit up, and he rubbed at his eyes, brushing away the tears. He sniffled, looking up.

Shrimpo lifted his head, meeting Boxten’s gaze for a moment, and he swallowed. “They’re not perfect, but you suggested I try baking, and ..”

Boxten set the container of brownies down on the stairs before embracing Shrimpo, squeezing him in a hug. Shrimpo’s eyes widened, antennae twitching and curling in surprise. He froze, completely unsure how to respond. How does one .. react to a hug?

Shrimpo hesitantly wrapped his arms around Boxten, and he felt as if his heart was going to leap into his throat. What was this? What feeling was this? 

His tail started to wag, and he immediately forced it to still, not enjoying the idea of humiliating himself. He huffed as Boxten pulled back, looking at him with a mixture of affection and disbelief. Shrimpo looked away.

“Thank you,” Boxten sighed, peeking into the brownie box again. “It means a lot.”

“Um, yeah, of course. I’m .. awesome like that,” Shrimpo said, hesitantly.

Boxten lifted two brownies out of the box - a middle piece and a corner piece. He held the corner piece out to Shrimpo, silently offering it. He took it, hesitantly, fingers brushing over Boxten’s as he did so.

It was a bit burnt around the edges - not his best work, but it was the way he liked it. He hoped Boxten wouldn’t mind.

Boxten seemed genuinely delighted as he took a bite of his brownie, and Shrimpo watched him curiously, searching his expression for any sign of distaste. He tilted his head, brownie still held in his own hand, nearly forgotten.

Boxten giggled. “I think you added too much sugar. I-It’s … very sweet.”

Shrimpo groaned, silencing himself by taking a bite of his own brownie. Boxten was .. definitely right. Despite being burned around the edges, it was almost numbingly sweet. Too sweet. He coughed, and this made Boxten laugh.

He smiled, without really thinking about it, catching Boxten’s eye. 

“Maybe just a little.”

Boxten beamed right back.