Chapter Text
“Spongebob! Open up!”
Once again, no response. Squidward sighed, slumping down in front of the door to Spongebob’s pineapple home in defeat. Having nothing to do, the cephalopod fixed his gaze upward, to the sky above the sea. The sun was starting to set, bathing the open ocean in a warm, reddish hue.
The cephalopod shifted uncomfortably, his legs chafing on Spongebob’s pebbled walkway. He must have been here for hours, at this point. When he boarded the bus back to Bikini Bottom, the sun was still high in the sky.
When the bus finally tottered its way down Conch Street, nearly two hours later, the sun was still there -- bright and burning above the seafloor. As soon as the bus came to a screeching halt, Squidward bounded off of it, headed straight for Spongebob’s house. The little poriferan didn’t respond when Squidward knocked -- but he was definitely inside, and he was definitely crying.
Spongebob Squarepants was many things -- but he was most certainly not a quiet cryer.
Squidward glanced up and down Conch Street. He had to admit, Bikini Bottom was pretty creepy with no one around. Not a soul in sight. Not a peep in any direction. And Spongebob’s just … been here, said a quiet voice in his head. He’s just been here, all alone. For a week.
Reinvigorated, Squidward stood up, and began pounding on the sponge’s front door once again. “Spongebob, open up, I’m serious! You really think I wanna be here? Because I don’t, but you … you’ve forced my tentacle!”
No response, yet again. Squidward groaned, pressing his forehead to the cool metal of Spongebob’s door. “You’re such a pain,” muttered Squidward, heat rising to his cheeks. “I went to National No Spongebob Day to get away from you … so why are you all of a sudden popping up in my dreams every night?”
It was embarrassing, but true -- ever since Squidward left Bikini Bottom for National No Spongebob Day (which, truth be told -- was actually National No Spongebob Days ), he’d been plagued by nightmares. Spongebob-related nightmares. And not the usual sort, with him laughing and being obnoxious or whatever.
In these nightmares, the sponge was crying, sobbing so hard his little body shook. And Squidward could do nothing but watch.
At first, it was tolerable -- but after one whole week of that same dream, Squidward couldn’t take it anymore. Inexplicably, he boarded the first bus back to Bikini Bottom. Back to Conch Street. Back to Spongebob.
Squidward curled up his tentacles in frustration. “I don’t even know why I’m here,” he mumbled, more to himself than to Spongebob. “I was two hours away, on a trip dedicated to getting away from you , and yet somehow, some way … I came running back.”
Just then -- miraculously -- the door to the pineapple opened, ever so slightly. In the doorway stood Spongebob Squarepants, in a soft purple bathrobe, holding an empty coffee mug between two small hands.
As Squidward suspected, the boy had clearly been crying. His blue eyes were bright red, and very puffy.
Suddenly overwhelmed, Squidward sputtered out the first thing that came to mind: “Please, talk to me... it kills me seeing you like this.”
Spongebob’s bright blue eyes looked him up and down. Then, he scowled -- a look that rarely made its way onto the sponge’s face. “Why would you wanna …,” Spongebob sniffed, wiping more tears from his eyes. “Why would you wanna talk to me? Don’t you wanna … get away from me, too?”
The sponge gestured feebly at Squidward’s shirt -- just a simple white tee with Spongebob’s face crossed out. The octopus winced.
“No, I -- look, I’ll, I’ll take it off --”
“What? But Squidward, I don’t have anything for you to wear --”
“I don’t care, it’s happening, I’m takin off the shirt, look --”
“ Squidward, I -- I --”
It was too late: Squidward had taken the shirt off. Now, he (completely naked) and Spongebob (in a simple, grimy robe) were just standing at the entrance to the pineapple, staring stupidly at one another. Several long, weird minutes passed, before suddenly -- they both began to laugh, and laugh hard. Normally, Spongebob’s laugh was annoying, especially to Squidward -- but after several hours of hearing the sponge cry through the cracks of his pineapple … it was nice to hear him laugh again.
Spongebob snorted, chuckles spilling from his mouth. “You’re naked,” he giggled.
“And you’re stupid,” muttered Squidward, pulling the white tee back over his head.
“Why’d you even take it off in the first place?” the sponge asked, still laughing.
“Look, I don’t know, ” groaned Squidward, leaning against Spongebob’s door frame. “I think it’s you. You make me crazy, Spongebob.”
Spongebob smiled, rolling back and forth on his heels. “So you left National No Spongebob Day?”
A vibrant blush spread across Squidward’s cheeks. “Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” he muttered.
“Because you were … dreaming about me?” prodded Spongebob.
Squidward rolled his eyes, fully entering the pineapple and shutting the door behind him. He hoped his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “It doesn’t really matter. I’m here now,” he huffed, moving further into Spongebob’s living room. “I’ll make some tea. In the meantime … I have no idea when the rest of the town will be back. Why don’t you find a movie you like?”
Spongebob grinned. “ Any movie?”
Squidward sighed. “As long as it’s not a romantic comedy.”