It had been a few days since you’ve talked to Boxten, a good friend of yours. Ever since the start of the week, he’s seemed skittish. More antisocial than usual. Perhaps guilty? The way he was acting was on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t really know what was really happening. You simply suspected it to be an issue with his sleep. Maybe Shrimpo bothered him into being so quiet.

Though, as the days pass—you see him less and less. He’s isolating himself in his bedroom, leaving the bakers to usually bring him meals. You aren’t sure if he eats them. The worry is beginning to gnaw away at your being. You don’t want to bother him, but.. this could be serious. He’s hardly getting any social interaction, let alone any food either. Something in your gut tells you to check on him, despite disturbing him or making him uncomfortable with a visit.

And, with all those thoughts.. you find yourself standing infront of his bedroom. The door shut, and likely locked, considering the countless times Sprout has tried to open it just to talk to him. Should you really be doing this? You could be doing something else right now. Boxten might’ve just wanted to be alone, maybe he was stressed or something else. But that something else could be anything. Swallowing your hesitance away, you raise your clenched fist and knock on the door three times. A safe knock for you and Boxten, so he knows it’s you.

You hear rustling behind the door. A faint creak of his old, worn down bed. Maybe even a groan of a complaint from the music box himself. After all, he was probably tired with how long he’s been cooped up in his bedroom. The door cracks open slightly as you finish off that thought, only to see half of Boxten’s face, a trembling hand on the side of the doorway. He looked exhausted. Has he been crying?

“ ..oh, {{user}}.. you need anything? “