Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Yeah? I was thinking that we try a new recipe with the pistachios Dyle brought in. I don’t think we’ve ever used pistachios before.”

Cosmo hummed, idly playing with the TV antenna's in front of him.

Shrimpo nodded along, letting his body rag doll lazily on the beanbag he was sprawled out on. “What do pistachios taste like?” He chimed in.

“Salty, with a nut-like taste,” Vee buzzed.

“You can’t even eat.”

“I know, I just searched it up.”

Boxten and Cosmo chuckled lightly, watching as Shrimpo squinted his eyes and deadpanned the television sitting in front of Cosmo’s bed.

Vee let out a sound boarded snicker, making Shrimpo huff. “Do you have to be so annoying? It’s like you’re intentionally rage-baiting me,” He grumbled lightly, his tail fin flicking with feigned annoyance.

—

Boxten watched with a subtle smile as the two bantered, a deep sigh leaving him. He was glad the group wasn’t questioning his lack of conversation today. He really didn’t feel like contributing much at all.

The purple music box let himself sink into the beanbag he was curled up on, quietly letting all the sounds fade into the back of his head.

He had been feeling really off today. And off was an understatement.

During piano recitals or review lessons, his handler was going off on her usual daily rant—except this time, she was constantly stopping to critique and fixate on all of Boxten’s minor mistakes. Playing the wrong note. The wrong rhythm. Even the wrong dynamic. They had just started on a new song, for Delilah’s sake! Of course he wouldn’t be playing the right dynamics yet, not until he had a grasp on the full piece!

The thought made him a little mad. He really didn’t like piano lessons all that much anymore. He was getting really fed up dealing with Margaret’s rambling and the constant pressure to play perfectly on the very first try.

He had convinced himself that today was just a bad day. That tomorrow would be better.

But it seemed someone had cursed him, because he never thought he’d care so much about something Margaret said in her endless yappings.

“Delilah has been on my ass about getting you more fans. So, we’ve decided that ballet lessons will start next week on Monday. We’ll get you all fitted with your own custom dress, and you’ll be performing with that little theater group. Isn’t that great? Oh, you’ll look so cute on stage! I’m excited for you, hun!”

Boxten felt a bead of sweat drip down his forehead as he recounted it all, word for word.

Ballet lessons.

Ballet.

Why did this have to happen to him? Just when he was getting confident in his own style. The reminder made him swallow thickly as his idle hands tightened around the arms he already had crossed.

He’d be on stage. Dancing. In a dress. In front of his friends. In front of everyone.

Why? Why did they decide this? Did they want to torture him? Was this because they knew? Why did he have to remember it now, of all times?

He felt his throat tighten, the music he had long forgotten she was idly playing stopping with a micro-tonal, broken note. The three people in the room blurred into a mess of color as he stared off into nothing.

He didn’t want this. She wished he could just say no. She wished she could say anything.

But she knew arguing wouldn't change a thing.

“Hey?”

Boxten jolted, suddenly aware of the hand resting on his—where his fingers had been unknowingly digging into his arm. He looked beside him automatically, his gaze still unfocused.

A white face watched him carefully, asking quietly, “Are you okay?”

“…”

“…Do you want to leave?”

The box didn’t answer again, unable to process the words being said to him as he turned his gaze forward once more.

He suddenly felt embarrassed. He could hear other people in the room laughing. Why were they laughing?

At him?

At her?

He swore they were. He was sure of it.

His body trembled slightly, teeth subconsciously biting at the skin on his lips. The clothes he was wearing felt disgusting and shameful—but he was pretty sure any other clothes he owned would feel just as bad. God, he didn’t want to be seen. Why couldn’t he just be normal?

Suddenly, he felt someone take his hand and help him up, gently leading him toward the room’s door. He could hear voices behind him, and the one holding his hand responding to them.

A few moments later, he found himself sitting on the floor of a closed-off and secluded maintenance hallway—the one that led away from the main one.

Next to him sat Shrimpo, still holding his hand idly by his side as he leaned back against the wall. It seemed he was waiting for Boxten to snap out of whatever state he was in.

“Shrimpo?”

The shrimp whipped his head at the sound of his name, his eyes widening slightly before settling back into a more nonchalant expression. “Yeah?”

Boxten carefully turned over the words he could say, his thoughts still messy from… whatever had happened earlier. He couldn’t really remember it now—or maybe he just didn’t want to.

Shrimpo tilted his head a little when Boxten didn’t respond, even though he’d clearly heard him. “You okay?” He asked, more concern bleeding into his usually rough tone.

“I—I…” Boxten stuttered out, looking at Shrimpo with furrowed brows before turning his head forward again. “…I feel…”

He felt the shrimps hand squeeze his, and from the corner of his eye, he could see the concern deepen on his face as he waited—patiently, as patient as Shrimpo could be.

“Disgusting,” He mumbled. “I feel disgusting.”

His free hand, which had been held close to him, gripped the fabric of his shirt. He let himself slide a little further down the wall, causing his shirt to bunch up and fall more loosely on his body.

The shrimp's fin flicked slightly, looking as equally nervous as Boxten. “Do you…want to… talk about it?” The crustacean hummed.

No. No, he really didn’t. He didn’t even want to think about it. The thought alone was enough to send his heart racing all over again.

The key on the back of his head strained to turn subtly as he shook his head, swallowing anxiously.

Silence fell between the two of them again—but it wasn’t awkward. In fact, Boxten welcomed the quiet. He knew he wouldn’t have enjoyed it nearly as much if it were anyone else here with him.

Despite not being the best at it, Shrimpo had gotten pretty good at knowing what Boxten needed. He’d even snuck Boxten some of his old clothes before and helped him sand down his old markings to carve in new ones—something the music box would forever be grateful for. Margaret had been furious when she found out, and Boxten had just barely gotten away with it by insisting that he was just trying out a new style.

The thought made his chest clench tightly, but he forced himself not to spiral back into it.

He glanced over at Shrimpo, who seemed to be enjoying the quiet just as much as he was.

…

Shrimpo had always been such a mystery, and it made him jealous.

Jealous because Shrimpo was so confident in his identity. Which probably was because his handler never cared about what Shrimpo wore anymore nowadays—unlike his own.

One day Shrimpo could be masculine, and the next feminine. Sometimes both at once. Boxten never quite understood how it worked, but when he looked at Shrimpo—

He had never seen anyone prettier.

A deep purple flushed across his face as the realization hit him. Shrimpo had helped him understand that it was okay to try new things. To try and be more bolder. More confident.

His heart ached—but from what? Admiration? Respect? None of which felt like it fully described what he felt for the shrimp. He didn’t know where he’d be without him, or what he’d be without him.

Maybe it was because they had seen each other at their worst, even when Boxten had been practically terrified of Shrimpo as a child, and Shrimpo had practically hated him.

Now, he felt pity for the crustacean, knowing what went on behind closed doors. Boxten always tried to check in whenever something happened, and over time, Shrimpo had started doing the same. The way they had bonded had always been complicated—too complicated for Boxten to fully understand.

He wasn't even sure what to do with it. And thinking about it was starting to make his chest ache again.

He subconsciously squeezed the hand he was holding, a frown tugging at his expression as he kept staring ahead. Shrimpo seemed to notice, adjusting his position and pressing his shoulder more firmly into Boxten’s. After a hesitant moment between both of them, Boxten found himself leaning into the contact.

“This sucks,” He grumbled.

Shrimpo snuck a glance at him and squeezed his hand back.

“Tell me about it…” Shrimpo scoffed, his sarcasm softer than usual.

By now, Boxten had mostly forgotten about their hangout with Vee and Cosmo.

But right now, staying put felt better than anything else.

So he went with that.