Chapter Text
In the beginning of time—
Or, at least, in the beginning of Sprout's life—
he'd always had to share everything with his fellow toons: clothes, toys, food, even accessories.
He could live with that. It was easy to be generous because nothing ever truly belonged to them.
But as time passed and Gardenview’s popularity grew, along with the number of toons, something began to change.
Sprout started noticing the things that were his. Small things at first—a favorite pen (marked with his bite marks), a worn-out jacket, a book with his name scribbled on the inside cover, and his iconic striped scarf.
They were his, and for the first time, he wanted to keep them.
It was a strange feeling—this desire to possess, to hold on to something just for himself. But it grew stronger with each passing day.
He began to wonder if it was wrong to want something for himself. After all, wasn’t generosity what he’d been taught? What makes you a good person? Wasn’t it better to give than to keep?
But as he stood there—being Sprout—he denied the feeling.
It feels selfish, he reasons.
Sprout is always there to help if anyone is ever in need. He knows what to say, what to do, and what to give—but he'd rather not let other people meddle with his self-induced conflicts.
If someone wanted to tear a page from his personal notebook, sure.
If someone was cold, he'd let them borrow his—the scarf he always wears, to them.
Because surely, that makes him a good person.
—
Shelly squeals as she jumps up and down, her excitement barely contained. Sprout watches her with curiosity before tossing her a question.
“You seem happy. Did something happen?”
Shelly’s grin grows wider. “They’re introducing a new toon! I heard he’s a roll cake! You’re getting a new partner for your show. Isn’t that exciting?”
Sprout pauses, mulling it over. “...I’ve heard of him, yeah.”
“I’m gonna meet him first! See ya!”
Sprout waves goodbye, but Shelly is already running out of the common kitchen.
Sprout has already read the new toon's introductory card (and to his surprise, this guy practically embodies the word generosity.)
He's already carefully formulating a plan to make the new guy feel welcomed and settled in. Though he doesn’t know what the newcomer looks like yet, he imagines someone lively, perhaps with a cheerful demeanor to match Shelly’s excitement. Hopefully.
Sprout goes over his usual mental checklist: a warm greeting, a quick tour of the kitchens, and maybe a small gift—something thoughtful but not overbearing. Sprout always prided himself on being approachable and dependable, especially when it came to making others feel at ease.
Though what he's not proud of is the feeling of mental exhaustion taking a toll on him. He doesn’t know when he’ll meet the new toon, but he hopes it won’t be at this current hour when all he wants to do is curl into a ball and sleep the feelings off.
There’s no doubt they’ll be throwing a mini party. Luckily for Sprout, the baked goods are already decorated and ready to be served, should they be needed.
Sprout rubs his eyes, trying to shake off the heaviness in his mind. Granted, he’s already an adult by toon standards, but it still feels too early to be this jaded. He’s always been the one people turn to for support, for a listening ear, for answers. But now, in this quiet moment, he wonders if he has the energy left to give.
He could practically feel the bags under his eyes—though, technically, he didn’t even have eyebags! Sprout had always been strict with his schedules, especially when it came to sleep.
With a sigh, he leans back in his chair, wishing he could switch off for just a little while, maybe just long enough to recharge.
—
It’s been three days, and Sprout still hasn’t met the new guy.
Admittedly, he had slept through the entire mini party and had been busy with other non-kitchen-related tasks, so their meeting was bound to be delayed. Gardenview is low on staff these days afterall.
Today is a day off, leaving him with the choice to stay in bed, waste the day away, or do something productive.
He’s definitely not postponing the inevitable.
(Because he’s scared.)
(Because it forces him to confront his own insecurities about his role and identity. Generosity has always been his defining trait.)
(He’s the one who knows how to make others feel welcome, who supports and gives without hesitation. Meeting someone who excels in the very quality he prides himself on feels threatening, as though it challenges his unique place in the dynamic.)
(What if the new toon surpasses him? What if the embodiment of generosity makes Sprout feel replaceable or exposes the cracks in his carefully maintained persona?)
(He worries he won’t live up to the expectations of being his usual welcoming self, especially when he’s so drained. The idea of meeting someone who embodies such an ideal will only amplify his feelings of inadequacy and the pressure to keep up appearances.)
Sprout smiles when Shelly introduces him to Cosmo. His heart pounds, though he tells himself it’s just the anxiety talking.
“Nice to finally meet you, Cosmo!”
“...Uh, likewise!”
What Sprout didn’t account for was the opposite of what he had imagined. Cosmo was...
Disgustingly generous.
To the point that Sprout couldn’t help but feel bad for him. Insecurity be damned, this guy was practically self-sacrificing!
It wasn’t the kind of generosity Sprout was used to—thoughtful and measured, making people feel cared for without losing himself. No, Cosmo’s version of generosity seemed reckless, almost painful to watch. Every act of kindness looked like it came at his own expense, as if he’d gladly give away the shirt off his back without a second thought.
Sprout’s initial fear of being overshadowed was quickly replaced by something else: pity, maybe even a little frustration. Generosity was supposed to be uplifting, not draining (he's one to talk,) and yet Cosmo looked like he carried the weight of the world with every cheerful act.
Sprout wasn’t sure what to make of it. “How am I supposed to feel threatened by someone who’s clearly burning out faster than a candle in a hurricane?” he thought, half amused, half concerned.
Sprout feels tired just watching the roll cake interact and give all his attention to the other toons. There is an urge to drag the man away from them and pamper Cosmo with the treatment he lacks ever since he's been introduced to the toons.
"You're hoarding Cosmo all to yourself! Save some for the rest of us!"
Did he truly? Honestly, he hadn’t realized. Time is too fickle for him to notice that hours have already passed. Baking takes time, after all. And it seems Cosmo hadn’t noticed the time either, until he finally looked up from his mixing bowl to Poppy, who announced that he had missed game night.
“Don’t get too heated, Poppy. We’ll join you next time. It’s just game night. We have all the time in the world,” Sprout tuts, and Poppy huffs in reply.
Perhaps he’s starting to see himself in the other toon, developing quite a soft spot. Though he doesn’t fully understand the reason behind his actions, he tells himself it’s just an excuse to keep things simple and not scare himself.
—
“Cosmo.”
“Hey, Sprout! Do you need something?” Cosmo glances at Sprout as he hands his plate to Goob. The craft sibling enthusiastically shoves all of the contents from Cosmo's plate to his own.
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“...Do what?”
“You didn’t need to give your portion of dinner to Goob. He’s already had three servings!” Sprout lightly scolds him (though he’d love to put more heat into it).
“It’s fine. He’s probably hungrier since he’s always running after kids. I’d probably pass out if it were me, haha!”
Sprout pauses, then quickly stabs a vegetable with his fork and places it on Cosmo’s plate. “Come on, you can’t fool me. I know you’re still hungry. Let’s put some meat on you.”
“No, I’m seriously fine!”
“I’ll believe that once you take a bite of the food I give you,” Sprout says, peering at him sternly.
It doesn’t take long for the two of them to grow so close. With Sprout obsessively observing him and Cosmo’s people-pleasing tendencies, they practically (kind of) know each other inside out.
(“Wherever Cosmo is, Sprout is sure to follow!”)
As time passed, Sprout changed as well, becoming more stern, perhaps even snappish, his patience growing thinner with the other toons. (But not thin enough for them to notice.) Watching from the sidelines, he began to realize they almost felt parasitic—but never with Cosmo, never at Cosmo.
Cosmo reluctantly takes a bite. “There, happy?”
Sprout immediately adds more food to Cosmo’s plate, much to his dismay.
“There’s more on your plate. Eat up.”
“Sprout—Come on!”
A groan interrupts them, and both toons glance up from their plates to see Vee glaring at them.
“Can you lovebirds do that somewhere else? I’m trying to metaphorically eat my salad here!” Vee sneers, before adding with a smirk, “Also, I agree with Seedly over here. You’re looking too thin, Cosmo. Don't tell me Sprout's working you to the bone with his demands.”
“Knock it off, Vee,” Sprout huffs, shooting her a quick glare before turning his attention back to Cosmo’s plate. He leans forward slightly and asks, “Are you still hungry? I could use my special privileges to sneak in more meat.”
“I was already full earlier!” Cosmo whines, his voice caught between protest and embarrassment. It’s always amusing to catch Cosmo off-guard when he’s treated with the same generosity. His protest makes the strawberry laugh—a genuine, unrestrained sound.
The next words slip out of Sprout’s mouth before he can stop them. As soon as they do, his chest tightens, his heart pounding so fiercely it feels like it might burst out of his throat. He can feel his eyes darting left and right, checking to see if anyone else heard.
“It’s okay to be selfish sometimes.”
Is he talking to Cosmo? Or to himself?